


Foundations

by liketolaugh



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist - All Media Types, Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga, X-Men (Original Timeline Movies), X-Men - All Media Types
Genre: Gen, Mutant!Ed, Not super familiar with the X-Men verse sorry
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-21
Updated: 2017-06-21
Packaged: 2018-11-17 02:05:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 31,853
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11265696
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/liketolaugh/pseuds/liketolaugh
Summary: If Edward was one thing, he was fire. But if he wasn't careful, he was going to burn himself out. Or, Edward Elric is a mutant, Mustang disapproves of him almost burning down the office, and the Xavier Institute is wary of military operatives no matter how old they are.





	1. Chapter 1

Heat.

Fever heat pulsed through Ed's body, suffocating him and shortening his breath as pain shot through him, razor sharp, huge, all-consuming spikes of _pain,_ agony, _hislegwasgoneithurtnonono._

Edward screamed, long and loud, clutching at the bleeding stump of his leg. Heat pulsed, reverberated, building, building. Ed screamed, the sound harsh and grating and nerve-wracking, terrified and hurt, senses overwhelmed by the unforgiving sensations, too much for him to take all at once.

There wasn't enough air.

Edward started to gasp for breath, chest heaving, and he forced his eyes wide open, jerking his head to the side, where Al's clothes lay abandoned. The heat built higher and his blood rushed, moving, moving, heatheatheat. Horror and terror competed for his attention; both lost to denial.

"Dammit!" Ed gasped, turning over, bloodstained hands releasing his stump to drag him forward. Heat built and swarmed in his chest, contesting the pain, which seared his mind, nerves screaming, shrieking at his leg's sudden absence. "This can't be happening! It can't be!" He gasped for breath. There wasn't enough air. It hurt. It _hurt._ "This wasn't supposed to-" Nothing went right, they were supposed to have their mother back, and just- "He's gone, what've I done?"

This was supposed to bring their family back _together,_ dammit! Not make everything, everything- Al. Al! _Al!_

Ed collapsed onto his side, breathing hard and harsh, biting back the pain, the heat. "Somebody help me," he whimpered. Too hot. It overwhelmed even the pain now, building, _too much,_ stop it, stop it, _stop it._ He was blind with it, the pain, the heat. It _hurt._ "Please, Mom. Mom, please." Please _stopstopstop…_ Anything to stop it, _please…_

Ed opened his eyes again, trying to focus, focus on where their Mom should be, intact and alive.

Instead, there was a monster, nowhere near human, mouth gaping open, lying in a pool of blood, staring. Staring at _Ed._

Suddenly, it all spilled over. Ed threw his head back and screamed, loud, long, and haunting. The heat spilled over, and suddenly, there was fire.

"No!" he screamed. "No, this is wrong! This isn't what we wanted!" It didn't matter anymore. Fire swarmed around him, burning up the wooden floor, approaching the creature, the _thing_ they'd made. It didn't matter anymore. It didn't matter that he couldn't feel the fire, just the pain, no more heat but his own. It didn't matter, because… "Al! Alphonse! _Alphonse!"_

Around Edward, the world burned, but all that mattered was Alphonse.

* * *

Alphonse had never expected to wake up, but he did, slowly.

He took in his surroundings uncertainly, eyes widening. _No._

Firelight was all that lit the room now, but it was everywhere; the room was burning, consuming everything. Already, it was collapsing around them, fiery beams falling and crashing against the floor, and panic filtered into Al's slowed mind. They had to get out of there.

He turned his head one way, then another. There wasn't a spot in the room that wasn't covered in flame, but-

Al didn't feel hot. Not even a little.

Wait, no, Ed! Where was Ed?

Before he could start to panic too much, Al looked down, and his eyes widened again. At his feet (too far down, what was going on, was that _armor-)_ Ed was staring up at him with tearstained eyes burning with determined fire, a bloody bandage around a stump of a left leg, hand clutching at his right shoulder, and he was saying something, what-

"I'm sorry, Al. All I could get for an arm was your soul."

Fire swirled around him, but he didn't seem to notice. Even as Al watched, stunned, struggling to understand what Ed's words meant (even if it was clear, it couldn't really, Ed didn't really- it couldn't really mean-) fire licked over his remaining leg and he only screwed up his face, the color draining away.

He was still bleeding.

Wait- he was still bleeding!

"Ed!"

Curiosity and confusion could wait. Al had to get Ed out, _now,_ or he would bleed to death right in front of him.

Al couldn't feel the fire, either.

Al picked up his panting brother, who was struggling to keep a hold on consciousness, wide gold eyes fixed on Al, pain shining clear, biting his lip hard enough to bleed. Al wasn't even sure Ed could still see him.

"Al," Ed rasped, hand squeezing his shoulder.

"Hold on, Brother," Al cried, worried his brother might not even be able to hear him at this point, and smashed his way out of the burning out, which was coming down behind him.

_He shouldn't be able to do that…_

It didn't matter. Ed mattered.

"Al," Ed repeated, quiet, almost inaudible. Then gold eyes slid shut, and Al tried not to scream.

"Brother!"

He ran toward the Rockbells, the first place that came to his mind, and their childhood home collapsed behind them, firelight flickering in the night.


	2. Chapter 2

There had always been something odd about Fullmetal. Something about his eyes, the way they blazed. The way his voice simmered with heat when he was angry. The way he moved – like a wild thing, people said. Mustang disagreed.

He'd worked with fire too long not to recognize one when he saw it.

And Edward _was_ fire. His temperament, scorching when angered and warm when pleased, was fire; his appearance, gold hair flickering in the sunlight, color bright with anger or excitement, was fire; and just as much, his emotions were a bright, roiling bonfire, intense and ever-changing, only just barely kept in control. He was fire, and Mustang knew it.

Mustang didn't find out why, though; not until the first time he personally went on an assignment with Fullmetal, in the boy's first year with the military.

It was just a trial; meant to see for himself how true the burgeoning legends were. Scarcely three months in the military, and already tales were spreading about the twelve-year-old Fullmetal Alchemist. Mustang was both proud and curious. And curious alchemists always sought out answers.

They'd chased the rogue alchemist into a warehouse. A dead end; there would be nowhere for him to go. This in mind, they'd gotten cocky and overconfident (Mustang was still bemused at Ed's previous action of collapsing the ground under the alchemist – really, it was a wonder he'd gotten out) and went in without securing the building, exactly the way you weren't supposed to.

It was an ambush. There were several men waiting inside, and they struck the moment the two State Alchemists entered the building.

It was a short fight; all eight men went down in the first five minutes. But in the chaos, the alchemist darted back out and, somehow, he got a hold of Fullmetal, held a knife to his throat, with his left arm twisted painfully, too far from his right to even consider touching (as said, the boy's talent was _legend)._

The moment Mustang had caught sight of them, he'd frozen. The world had paused and the man had grinned. Fullmetal's gold eyes were wide, fixed on Mustang. Not as frightened as he'd been in those first days, but very far from unconcerned. (That would change, Mustang knew.)

It went as one would expect; the man demanded surrender, Mustang hesitated, and the man pressed the blade to Fullmetal's exposed throat, drawing a thin line of blood, twisting the arm a little further.

Mustang would remember what happened next very, very clearly.

Fullmetal's eyes widened. His breathing picked up. He squirmed, started to hyperventilate, only pressing the blade further into his throat. His eyes squeezed shut, looking like he was in pain, or like he was trying very, very hard to suppress something, head bowing forward.

Then his cheeks flushed, the way they sometimes did when he was very, very angry. His mouth opened, his head was thrown back. His fists clenched convulsively.

Finally, a spark flared – somewhere around his chest, Mustang would later guess – and fire, bright and hot, blazed up from his collar to encompass his neck and head, and then began to flicker out the edge of his clothes – the end of his left sleeve and the top of his right boot, especially.

Someone had yelled; it might have either been him or the man. Maybe both. The man let go as if burned (which he was, Mustang supposed) and Fullmetal jerked away, twisted, and lashed out at him, like he wasn't burning at all. A gradient of orange shimmered on his face, flickering with hints of white, and flames twisted into Fullmetal's characteristic braid trailed after his head as he turned, left fist making contact with the unfortunate man's face, flickering flames lapping at white-gloved fingers.

The man went down, blisters already emerging where he'd dared to touch Fullmetal. The smoldering boy backed away, familiar golden eyes untouched by the fire, still wide, still frightened.

Light, flickering tongues of flame licked a face like fire made solid as Fullmetal's eyes turned to Mustang.

That was the day Mustang learned about the x-gene.

* * *

Ed was just barely thirteen years old when the rumors started.

Amestris was going to enact an X-Gene Mutant Identification law, or the XMI protocol.

It was odd, actually; previous to this, there were only a very few people in the military who even knew what a mutant _was._ But when Mustang first said it, casually, his eyes had scanned the room, sharp and discerning.

Hawkeye had looked to him, gaze shrewd and narrow. Ed had looked up, eyes widening, hand pausing in its illegible scrawling, and Al had frozen. Those two knew, of course, and apparently, so did Hawkeye, which had come as something of a surprise, though not so much in hindsight.

Falman, too, had known, though he hadn't yet heard of the rumors, because his eyebrows shot up on his head and a frown appeared on his face.

The others were less informed. Breda frowned, brow furrowed, trying to dredge up any memory he might have of real-life mutants (aside, of course, from chimeras) and Fuery looked puzzled, which Mustang took to mean that the rumors may well be unfounded (the higher-ups, of course, denied everything). Havoc frowned, too, outright confused, and asked aloud what the hell a mutant was.

Fair enough. Most mutants were found in America. That may be where the rumors came from, come to think of it; there was talk of one there, too, though nothing official on that end, either.

It was shortly after that that Ed's behavior changed slightly. He was more irritable, jumpier, and as close to anxious as they'd ever seen him away from immediate, obvious danger.

Though much of the office was a little worried for the kid who'd been with them for a full year now, Mustang didn't think much of it; after all, Fullmetal probably had the most to worry about if such an act was passed. Though the official policy on mutants was to, essentially, ignore them, Mustang (and Fullmetal) were both aware that many people had no goodwill for mutantkind. Besides that, there was, of course, Alphonse.

It had been a year since Fullmetal had joined the military – a year of constant, intense effort, met with only failure. A trying experience, even for a boy like Edward Elric. Maybe especially for a boy like Edward – Mustang wondered if he'd ever truly failed at anything before this.

Of course, he'd only attempted the impossible once before.

Mustang would have dismissed it. Then Edward popped in for a report and ducked Havoc's hand when the man brought it up to ruffle his hair playfully, leaving the blond man blinking in surprise.

Mustang would have dismissed that, too – most teenage boys abhorred touch, and Ed had always been somewhat more reluctant than most to accept the friendly contact.

But he avoided Breda's slap on the back, too.

And Fuery's hand to the shoulder.

And he wouldn't shake Falman's hand.

"Fullmetal? What's wrong?"

Never let it be said that Mustang did not look after his men.

Fullmetal shuffled, mutinously scowling. Al murmured something to him and he stilled, but the scowl didn't go away. Al sighed, resigned and exasperated, but clearly unsurprised. He must have been in a foul mood for most of the day.

"I'm fine," Fullmetal snapped, arms crossed, glaring at the ground somewhere to Mustang's left.

"I'm sure," Mustang agreed. Fullmetal was always 'fine', but Mustang wondered if he was ever 'good', or, god forbid, 'happy'. He also wondered if Fullmetal actually thought he was fooling anyone. "Now why don't you explain why you are so _blatantly_ refusing to let anyone touch you?"

Fullmetal's head snapped up, and the boy glared at him with venemous gold eyes.

"Gee, Mustang, I didn't realize molestation was part of my contract," he said sarcastically, muscles clenching and unclenching with nervous energy. Al made a little noise of protest.

"Brother, don't be rude!"

Fullmetal sighed and forced himself to relax again. "Sorry, Al." No apology was forthcoming for Mustang. He knew better than to expect one, anyway. Fullmetal rarely apologized to anyone outside his little brother.

Mustang didn't have the patience for this. Or the time; he had a stack of paperwork nearly as tall as Fullmetal waiting on his desk. "Hold out your arm."

"What?" Ed blinked, completely thrown, which had the happy side effect of dissipating his temper entirely.

"Prove you're fine. Hold out your arm." Mustang's gaze didn't waver, settled firmly on his most troublesome subordinate, who insisted on causing more trouble than all the rest put together, most of which took the form of an irritating, bothersome sort of worry. (The rest was in the form of paperwork.)

Now Fullmetal looked trapped, and rightly so; he couldn't refuse without admitting something was wrong, and he couldn't obey without Mustang finding out what.

Fullmetal scowled and held out his arm, mutiny in the set of his mouth, gaze burning a hole in the floor.

Mustang slipped off his glove and reached out, settling his fingers firmly on Fullmetal's flesh arm. Whatever he was expecting, it wasn't what he found.

Fullmetal's arm was warm to the touch. Fever warm. Actually, beyond fever warm – more the mantle of a recently used fireplace.

Mustang waited in silence for just long enough to make Fullmetal uncomfortable, and then said, cool and composed, "Let's try this again. Fullmetal. What's wrong?"

Fullmetal ripped his arm away angrily. "Nothing! I'm _fine!"_

Mustang raised an eyebrow and glanced at his arm pointedly. Al shifted forward noisily and looked earnestly at Mustang. How a suit of armor could look more sincere than a boy barely in his teens, Mustang would never be quite sure.

"Brother's just stressed, is all," Al offered, gauntlet hands tucked neatly in his lap, slope of his shoulders unconcerned, head tipped up to meet Mustang's navy with his soulfire from his spot on the floor. "Because we haven't been getting very far."

Fullmetal scowled, crossing his arms again, and didn't meet either of their gazes. Typical Fullmetal guilt, at least when in denial thereof. (Mustang had seen Fullmetal's open guilt before. It was painful to watch.)

And Al was more likely to turn Fullmetal over to the hospital than to help him hide his problems, anyway. Mustang nodded, sure that, if nothing else, it was a small enough problem for the Elrics to deal with between themselves.

"Fine. But settle down soon. Getting _short-tempered_ about it isn't going to solve anything."

Fullmetal bared his teeth at him, but stormed off instead of exploding, which Mustang felt boded ill, despite his newfound conclusion. Al looked apologetically at Mustang and then hurried after his irate older brother, already scolding him.

Mustang fingered the sticky note under his desk, which had been placed there just under a year before and which held a single phone number on the clean butter-yellow surface.

* * *

"Brother? Why didn't you tell the Colonel?"

Ed made an irritated noise at the back of his throat, fists clenched and back slightly hunched. "I told you, Al. I can handle it."

Al clanked along one step behind, hovering anxiously, helmet head turned to look at him. "But it's been happening for a month, and it's not getting better, it's getting _worse."_

Ever since shortly after Mustang had mentioned (ha, _mentioned,_ like he hadn't done it just to see how they reacted)the rumors about the XMI protocol, Ed's control over his fire had been slipping, even if just a little.

Ed didn't think Al would have even noticed – it wasn't like his brother could feel his skin slowly getting hotter, Ed thought bitterly – if the extra concentration he needed to keep himself under control hadn't caused him to slip, make a stupid mistake, and get himself hurt. _(Another setback they didn't need.)_

Ed sighed, stopped, and spun to face his brother, expression set, fierce and firm. "I'm not gonna let this set us back, okay, Al? It was hard to control in the beginning, too, but I got it just fine." He'd adapt to this, just like he adapted to everything else.

Al pushed his index fingers together anxiously. Ed was missing the point. "But-"

"Al." Al stopped. Ed flashed him a cocky grin, the same one that never failed to make him feel just a little bit better, the one Ed used when he was hurt in a hospital bed or close to collapsing from exhaustion. "I'll be fine. Don't worry about it."

That said, Ed spun back around and kept walking as if he'd never stopped, braid waving slightly with his pace. Al, not quite reassured, followed after.

* * *

After having left for a few weeks for a mission and the accompanying string of quests, Ed and Al had returned to East Command and had been lingering there for longer than usual – a full week now. Over that time, despite his own insistence, Ed had only grown edgier and more frustrated – nothing was working, none of the old tricks that he'd used when he was first learning to stamp it down did him any good now.

The other guys in the office had noticed, too. Case in point: Havoc.

On Don't-Touch-Me Week Eight, Havoc tracked the Elric brothers down after office hours to talk to them. He, being possibly the closest to the brothers (having had the most personal contact with them), had been the first to notice Ed's strange behavior and was the first to do something about it.

He found them in an empty hall, not far from the front door, and stopped them by placing himself bodily in front of them, which would get their attention, even if he knew it wouldn't do any good if they truly wanted to get away.

Sure enough, Ed glanced up at him, hands stuffed in his pockets and practically vibrating with tension, gold eyes unhappy. No wonder they were getting worried, Al thought privately.

He was, too.

"Hey, Havoc," Ed greeted quietly, like Havoc wasn't deliberately blocking their way. That was another thing; when he wasn't being very, very loud, Ed was being very, very quiet. The office had only seen this phenomenon once before, when they'd gotten to a rogue alchemist's base too late and found the mangled body of a small girl at the alchemist's feet. It, if nothing else, was a sure sign that something was wrong.

Havoc removed his cigarette from his lips and held it between his fingers, face serious. "Hey, boss."

"Something up?" Ed tilted his head expectantly at Havoc, unhappiness flickering away for the moment in favor of curiosity.

"Yeah, actually." Havoc squashed out his cigarette and flicked it away. This was not the time for distractions. Extracting information about the Elrics' wellbeing was not simple work. "Wanna tell me what's wrong? You've been avoiding us like the plague since you got back."

"I'm fine," Ed snapped defensively, bristling. Of course.

"No, you're not," Havoc said decisively. Now, the trick – OK, so there was no trick. Havoc kind of just threw words out and hoped he struck home; he didn't think his aim was that bad, either. "You won't let anyone touch you and you've been wound up tighter than a ball of string." Ed's head fell, the boy's gaze fixing resolutely on the ground, and Havoc sighed. "Look, boss-"

Ed, not looking at him anymore, didn't notice Havoc's hand reaching for his shoulder in time to do anything about it. Al's eyes widened as he realized its destination too late, reaching futilely with leather hands.

"Second Lieutenant, don't-!"

Havoc's hand fell firmly on Ed's shoulder and jerked away in half a second, like he'd gripped a hot metal pan.

_"Ouch!"_

Havoc stared at his hand in bewilderment and Ed's golden eyes jerked up, startled, settling on his hand and going wide. Al made a distressed sound.

Havoc stared at him, mouth slightly open, everything he'd intended to say wiped from his mind. Under his gaze, Ed's breathing sped up nervously, slight guilt lining his eyes.

"What-?"

Ed's eyes darted from Havoc's hand, to his eyes, back to his hand, which was turning bright pink from the burn. He flinched, hard.

He took one step back. Two. "Sorry, Second Lieutenant." Another. "Y-you might want to run that under some water." Another. He made as if to say something else, stopped, and then turned and ran.

"Brother!" Al yelped. He barely paused to glance at Havoc and say, "I'm sorry for him, Second Lieutenant. He really can't-" He cut himself off and ran after his brother, leaving Havoc holding his wrist, wondering what the _hell_ had just happened.

* * *

Al caught up to Ed just outside the building. "Brother!"

Ed stopped, but he didn't look up. He shifted from foot to foot, metal parts clicking almost unnoticeably with the movement, frowning pensively at the ground. Al caught up and stopped right next to him to look down and say reassuringly,

"It's okay, Brother. It was just a little burn."

It was a moment before Ed answered, and he still didn't move. "…Yeah, I know."

Al tilted his head, red orbs concerned. "Then what's wrong?"

A lot more than Ed was willing to admit to Al. He was the _big brother,_ here; he should be able to deal with this himself, and instead, here he was, worrying his little brother with his complete _inability_ to do so. The last thing he wanted was to worry him more, but Al could read him like a book. He always could.

Ed sighed, deflating. "It shouldn't have happened," he muttered, angry at himself, kicking aimlessly at the ground. A lot of things shouldn't have happened. "You're right, Al; this is getting worse, not better."

Al waited silently. If Ed was ready to tell him, he would. Instead, Ed sighed again, smiled tiredly, and rapped Al on the chest with one automail fist, a silent promise.

"I'm sure it's nothing, though. C'mon, let's get going."

Ed grinned and bounded off, and Al hurried after him.

"Brother! Don't run in the streets, you'll bowl someone over!"

The next morning, Havoc's hand was bandaged, white cloth tight around the clean burn, and Ed winced when he saw it, though it was quickly masked and he made no other outward indication of regret.

Regret, regret, regret. Sometimes, Ed felt like he regretted everything. Other times, he felt like he ought to.

His silver watch was heavy in his pocket, and his metal limbs heavy on his body.

Warmth pulsed through his body, thick under his skin, almost enough to be uncomfortable, but not quite. He took a deep breath, shoving his thoughts away, and it cooled a little.

* * *

Standing nearby and glaring at them all to do their paperwork, Hawkeye was close enough to hear when Breda muttered to Havoc,

"What happened?"

Havoc frowned, brow furrowed, and rubbed his wrist absently, unable to touch his hand without a spike of pain shooting through it. "It was the wierdest thing…" Seeing Breda's expectant look, he continued, "I touched the boss' shoulder, and it was as hot as a pan fresh off the stove." Even for _Ed,_ that was weird. And there wasn't a lot they didn't expect from him anymore.

Breda's brow furrowed. "You sure? The _little_ boss?" The men rarely referred to Mustang as 'boss', preferring 'Chief' for him and reserving 'boss' for Edward, but when it came to fire and burns it was better to make sure.

Havoc glanced up at him, every bit as confused as he was. "Yeah. Kid knew it, too. Looked just like I'd caught him with his hand in the cookie jar and ran off before I could ask him about it."

Ed, at least, knew what it was. Hawkeye suspected she did, too.

Having heard more than enough, Hawkeye stepped close to them, gun in her hands, and said pointedly, "Don't you two have work to do?"

Both men wisely flinched and put their heads down, getting back to work. Hawkeye stepped back again, letting her brown eyes rove over the room, settling only briefly on a quietly frowning Ed.

She hadn't been aware that the eldest Elric was a mutant.

* * *

 _What's with this thing,_ Ed thought in frustration, _with the Colonel Bastard and his minions cornering me all the time?_

This time it was Hawkeye who stood across from him, face set and expressionless, one arm resting casually by her side and the other sitting not-so-subtly on her gun. Hawkeye meant business.

She inclined her head. "Edward."

Ed backed away a few steps, looking at her warily, sensing danger in the light of her eyes. "Yeah?"

"I heard from Second Lieutenant Havoc how he got his burn this morning." As Ed froze, shoulders tensing, and Al gasped softly, head going to Edward and back, she continued, voice quiet and almost soft, "You ought to have informed us. You're a mutant, aren't you, Edward?"

Ed was staring at her with wide, stunned gold eyes, so Al answered for him, soft and subdued. "Yeah… his powers activated two years ago."

Al's voice was quiet and apologetic. Hawkeye nodded, having expected nothing less.

"The Colonel knew," Al added hastily, close to pleading, a fervent attempt at placation.

Hawkeye frowned, not having expected that. Caught between approval and disapproval, she said neutrally, "Did he?"

Al nodded quickly, hopeful.

"You are, too."

Both of them started at Ed's sudden reentry into the conversation and looked over to find Ed looking directly at Hawkeye, gold eyes certain. Well. He was a genius, after all.

Hawkeye looked faintly surprised, but Al gasped again, clearly following Ed's thought process, and Al's eyes went to hers.

"What makes you say that?" she asked, not giving anything away.

Ed wavered slightly, a candle in the wind, but then grew more confident, meeting her gaze firmly. "Even with the spreading rumors lately, most people wouldn't have instantly jumped to the conclusion that I was a mutant, and even if they didn, they would have approached it differently." He paused, hesitated, and then went on. "You weren't surprised at all when the topic first became well-known and you knew more about mutants than most of the others from the start."

Pause.

"You're right," Hawkeye said finally. Edward smirked, just the smallest bit; he knew he was. (If he hadn't, Hawkeye knew they wouldn't have heard a word of it.) "Well done. I've known I was mutant since I was seventeen, but I was using my powers a few years before that." It was hard not to.

At least hers was more or less harmless. Edward, of course, wasn't so lucky. He and his brother always did seem to get the short end of the stick.

"What can you do, Lieutenant?" Ed asked, sounding almost eager, gold eyes sparkling for the first time in days. Pleased beyond belief to have someone like him to talk to. "What's your power?"

Hawkeye smiled at his excitement – just a little. "Thermal vision." Her gaze travelled over him thoughtfully, the human spectrum flickering away for the briefest of moments, replaced by a gradient of orange, blue, and black. "And now that it occurs to me to look, your core temperature is… alarmingly hot." Sure enough, Edward was blazing orange in her vision, with a little white spot glowing just where his heart was. And then Alphonse, beside him, was cold, more so even than most inanimate objects, which was why she didn't use her power around them. It was unsettling.

Ed scowled and crossed his arms over his chest self-consciously. "Shut up," he mumbled, glaring somewhere to the side. Alphonse chuckled softly, the sound reverberating slightly within his armor.

Hawkeye almost smiled again, but her self-control had slipped up enough for one day. Instead, she ordered crisply, "Get a hold of yourself, Edward. Don't forget, you have work to do." They all did, in this office.

Ed sombered instantly, deflating, right hand falling to rest on his pocket watch.

Yeah, like he was ever going to be able to forget that.

* * *

Ed laid back on his bed, arms tucked under his head, staring at the ceiling. His hair was free of its normal braid, splayed out across the pillow and tangled in his fingers. Some way to the side, Al's glowing eyes were dark, in some sort of daydreamy powered-down state that Ed knew was no substitute for actual sleep.

A year.

They'd been trying to get Al's body back for an entire year now, and _nothing._ Nothing but red herrings and long-gone whispers.

Ed hated it.

Ed hated that for two years now (over seven hundred and thirty days) Al had been forced to stand long hours awake, all alone. That he hadn't been able to feel a thing, not the cool of a breeze or the soft kittens' fur he so loved or the warmth of another's skin. He hadn't been able to enjoy the taste of apple pie or the relief of sleep, not the tingle of tiredness or the gentle soreness of just a little too much activity.

He missed seeing Al's big smile and brass eyes, missed hugging his little brother tight, hearing his voice without the armor's strange echo.

And then there were other things, more recent things, more problems that just kept _piling up_ and _getting in the way._

The day before, Fuhrer Bradley had announced to the public that yes, the government was considering enforcing the MXI protocol. It was in no way certain, he assured them, but it was distinctly under consideration.

The XMI protocol meant total disclosure, and Ed was no fool; he knew what the military would like to do with a power like his. He'd heard what they'd had Mustang do during the Ishvalan Massacre.

He'd never be able to get out.

And if Alphonse had a power, _he_ would never be safe from the military either, not once he got his body back.

And if Amestris went to war-

The darkness was gone; the room was bright, the walls flickering with soft orange.

Al powered back to life and his eyes went straight to his brother, who was now lurching up, eyes wide and alarmed. Al yelped. _"Brother!"_

Fire flickered over Ed's bed, threatening to spread; he yelled in alarm and launched himself up and out. Al was already sketching an array onto the ground, and as Ed forced his breathing to slow, he placed his hands on it.

Blue sparks darted toward the fire, rearranging the air's molecules so that the oxygen was drawn away and the fire was only surrounded by inflammable carbon dioxide, suffocating it. Within seconds, the fire was out, and Al released the array and turned to look at his brother (not calm, but no longer borderline flaming) worriedly.

"Brother, what happened?"

Ed ran his fingers through his hair, tugging at it in frustration, expression dismayed and colored with the beginnings of distress. "I don't know, Al," he admitted quietly.

Fire pressed against him insistently, pulsing in his chest like a second heartbeat, and he wasn't sure he could push it back forever.

But he had to try.

* * *

Ed's latest report wasn't exactly the stuff of legends, not like some of them were. There were no exploding caves, spontaneous mini-tornadoes, or collapsed dams. But Mustang did manage to pick out one small, rather important detail.

A warehouse had burned down. And no one knew why.

Well. Mustang was willing to bet two people did. And both of them were avoiding him.

Mustang wasn't too concerned; eventually, Ed did, of course, have to come in and give his verbal report. Mustang could speak to him then. And he did – three days late.

Rather prompt, for him.

Mustang didn't spare any time in dragging (metaphorically, of course, as dragging was undignified) Edward into his private office, giving Al a curt shake of his head, indicating that he should not follow. Al made an uncertain sound, but didn't follow.

As soon as they were in, Mustang turned right to Ed, dark eyes snapping with carefully restrained ire.

"Alright, Fullmetal, enough is enough. What's going on?"

Ed crossed his arms. "Nothing!" he snapped, predictably. But he was defensive, shifting continuously, seemingly unable to stop moving. He was tapping his fingers, moving from foot to foot, messing with a loose screw on his wrist, constantly. Fullmetal was anxious.

"The _warehouse,_ Fullmetal," Mustang said tightly, eyes stern and unforgiving. This was no time for joking. If something was wrong, Mustang wanted to know what; it had been over two months now, and as he'd said, enough was enough.

"Warehouses burn down all the time," Ed defended, looking away and scowling. Which would be true, in any other situation. "Who said it had anything to do with me?"

"They don't burn down without due cause," Mustang returned, not willing to give him an inch. "I thought you said you had it under control. Are you _trying_ to get yourself found out?"

Ed's head snapped back up, eyes blazing angrily, water splashed on a grease fire. For just a moment, Mustang found himself staring eight into Fullmetal's unmasked eyes, betraying anger and, more importantly, fear – fear of the power he just _couldn't seem to control._

"I'm trying, okay?" Ed snapped, hands jerked down to his sides, clenched as if to hit something. "I'm fucking _trying,_ and it used to be easy, yeah? Only now it's fucking _not_ and-"

_And I don't know what to do._

Mustang heard the bitten-off sentence clear as day, slight wide navy eyes tracking the tiny tongues of flame etching into Ed's flushed face and fading away moments after appearing.

Mustang paused. Then he made a tactical decision.

Strictly tactical, of course.

"Fullmetal. Calm down; you're no good to anyone in this state." Mustang waited while Ed gradually forced himself to calm down, fire slowly sinking back into hiding. When Ed looked a little more composed and at least somewhat ready to listen, he continued, "Look. I'm going to say this exactly once. You're a genius, Fullmetal, but you don't know everything. Mutation isn't your specialty, alchemy is." Mustang looked at him, deadly serious, not a hint of a smirk. "If you need help, say so."

Fullmetal needed to learn how to do this someday, but Mustang knew that that day might not be today. If he didn't know he could, though, the chances went from low to just about nonexistent, and this was nothing if not a serious issue.

By this time, some of the higher-ups were starting to take notice. Even with Mustang running interference, this couldn't go on for much longer.

But of course, Edward was stubborn.

"I can do this, Colonel Bastard," Ed snapped, a hint of wildness in his tone and his eyes, close to desperation and let out as anger. He spun around and stormed out, head down, hair hiding his eyes, fists clenched and shaking slightly.

Mustang waited until he was gone before he took out the piece of paper from under his desk and stared at it awhile.

* * *

Edward and Alphonse were in Central again, trailing another report of a burned-down building. Mustang, clearly trying to keep them in Central, had ordered them and Armstrong to clear out the headquarters of a local gang.

Ed didn't know _why_ Mustang wanted him in Central, not when he could feel the fire snapping and flaring just under his skin, wanting to rise, to blaze up and _destroy,_ burning, searing Ed's chest like a white-hot ember resting where his heart should be.

Ed was a woodpile soaked in gasoline, and he _should not be here._

They'd almost reached the tall building now; Armstrong was surprisingly quiet when he wanted to be, and Al was going a different way, slowly but better hidden.

Armstrong had insisted on a 'brilliantly undetectable' approach using 'stealth techniques passed down the Armstrong line for generations' and 'the wiles of the clever Elric brothers'.

Not that Ed didn't appreciate the praise (and most particularly Al's inclusion in it) but in this kind of mood, all he really wanted to do was barge right in and bla- _plow_ right through all its occupants.

But _no,_ they had to sneak.

Still, Ed supposed he could do that, too.

Ed raised his head slightly to cock an eyebrow at Armstrong, who nodded slightly in return, brow furrowed in seriousness, mouth a firm line, crouched down and looking smaller than a man his size had any right to look.

Which still wasn't very small, granted.

Ed nodded back and glanced to the taller, denser bushes where Al hid, wincing at every creak of his antique armor. Al, of course, noticed – he always did – and Ed parted from Armstrong and crawled toward Al, and they both turned around to go in the back way.

The wooden door creaked when Ed pushed it open; it also smoked. He grimaced slightly and ducked in, Al one step behind.

The room they emerged in was empty and unlit. Ed took a cautious step in, wary of an ambush, and then another, and Al's metal clang filled the room, easily covering his own uneven footsteps. Ed took another step.

Blue sparks burst to life under his feet, illuminating the room and, more importantly, the large array under his feet.

The alchemical reaction spread quickly to the edges of the room, melding the doors into the walls, and then thickening them so much as to be virtually impenetrable.

Ed let out an alarmed cry as the room shrank dramatically, startled, and his fragile grip slipped (dammit, _no)_ and the fire consumed him.

They heard a bellow, too muffled to make out. Al's alarmed stare drew Ed's attention and he turned to look at a wall, watching as cracks grew from the wall facing the front.

A moment later, Armstrong came bursting through the six-foot-thick wall, completely unharmed and sending rubble flying everywhere. Al yelped and moved to cover his brother from flying debris, which pinged off him dully, sending an echo through the room (and most probably several others).

So much for subtlety.

"Elrics!" he bellowed, completely unconcerned with the wall and its Armstrong-sized hole behind him. "Are you yet unharmed? Have you been injured?"

They stared at him. Armstrong's blue eyes fell on Ed and widened.

Ed realized, belatedly, that he was still on fire and thus rather alarming to look at. He yelped again, turning to dart behind Alphonse. Armstrong's next words, robust and delighted, stopped him short.

"Edward Elric!" Ed winced and slowly looked over his shoulder, apprehensive. Armstrong, though, was beaming at him, looking one step from embracing the flaming boy. Ed thought that he actually would have, if it hand't been such a hazardous activity. Armstrong stripped his shirt and spread his arms wide, striking a classic Armstrong pose, flexing his arms happily. "It is wonderful that you could join us in this glorious advancement of mankind!"

…Huh?

Slowly, Ed's gaze travelled to the hole behind Armstrong, and the lightbulb flicked on.

"You're a mutant, too, Major?" Al questioned tentatively, one step from disbelieving. They'd never even _suspected…_

Armstrong grinned and flexed his arms again, sparkling. Ed coughed and swatted some away from his eyes. "Indeed! The mutant gene has been passed down the Armstrong line for generations!" He turned serious again. "Now, let us continue on our mission to show these poor souls the strength of a State Alchemist!"

How many mutants _were_ there in the Amestrian military?

* * *

It had been three months since Ed's control had first started to slip. In that time, his moods had been alarmingly volatile, even for him, fluctuating from anger to melancholy to scarcely-concealed fear and back.

Was it really any wonder that the office was becoming concerned?

This concern reached its peak when Ed was, once again, in the office. He slammed his report down on Mustang's desk and glared at him.

"Here's the report, Colonel Bastard."

An angry day, then.

Mustang glanced up at him with feigned disinterest. "Another failure, I presume?"

Ed's scowl intensified and he took his hand off the paper to clench it at his side, metal creaking with the force. Al made an anxious little sound, hovering with clear concern.

"Colonel, please," he nearly begged. Edward had been on edge all day and Al _really_ didn't want him to catch fire again. Ed always got upset when he burst into flame – well, more so than he was _when_ he did so.

Mustang glanced up at the armor and apparently picked up on something that they were missing, because he leaned back with a nod. "Fine. Fullmetal, you're dismissed."

Ed nodded stiffly, every line of his body screaming restraint, and spun around.

He didn't make it to the door, though; Havoc was leaning againt it, a cigarette held to his lips, face grim.

"Hey, boss," he greeted, pretending like he didn't realize that Ed was in no mood to be interrogated. Sometimes it just didn't matter. And Ed would most likely _never_ want to talk about this.

Ed let out a long breath and shifted, casual posture dangerous. He already had a feel for what they wanted, and sure enough, he wanted no part of it. "Havoc."

"D'you have a moment? Us guys at the office want to talk to you."

Ed's irritation drained into wariness, and he shifted again, restless. "…Sure. I guess."

Havoc grinned, but it was clear he wasn't feeling it. "Great."

Mustang glanced up as Ed hesitantly headed for the cluster of officers, but quickly looked back down to his work as Hawkeye's pistol clicked. She was probably keeping an eye on things, anyway.

It was Fuery who opened the discussion; Ed would guess that he'd been nominated, because he certainly didn't look like he wanted to be the one to do it.

"Major," he started hesitantly, tugging anxiously at his own sleeve, though his gaze didn't waver from Ed's. "We've noticed that, well, lately…" His voice didn't fare quite so well and faltered.

Ah, Ed couldn't even get _mad_ at him like this. Fortunately, at that moment, Breda cut him off.

"What he's trying to say is that it's pretty obvious that something's up, kid, and we want to know what." Breda crossed his arms and raised an eyebrow at Ed.

Ed flinched slightly and backed up a step; unconsciously, the officers had fanned out into a semicircle, surrounding Ed and Al and pinning them against Falman's desk.

Al noticed, too; he shifted slightly and said, in a high, nervous voice that convinced no one, "It's fine. Really! There's just been, uh, a lot going on." He stole a glance at his brother, wringing his hands worriedly.

Breda snorted. "Nice try, kid."

"In the last three months, Major Elric has smiled at the office exactly four times," Falman put in, a furrow in his brow. "Though we rarely see you outside of it, it seems unlikely that you smile much more."

Al made a pained sound. This was true.

"And Al's been worried all the time, too," Fuery provided, gaining confidence, worry in his eyes. "He hasn't been like this since the first time Major Elric got hospitalized after a mission."

This, too, was true. Ed winced visibly and took another step back, hitting the desk, which smoked slightly, making him jerk back away. A hunted look was in his eyes, anxiety rising high, breathing quickening. He felt trapped and confined and they kept asking _questions_ and the fire was pulsing, pulsing…

Something like realization sparked in Havoc's eyes, and he took a step forward. "Boss, is this about the mutant thing?" Forgetting what happened last time, he reached for Ed. Ed's eyes went wide, and his cheeks flushed. "Are you-" _Scared?_

Mustang heard Hawkeye inhale sharply, and he looked up, spotted Ed's face. His eyes widened, he lurched forward, and Ed hastily jerked away from Havoc's hand, forgetting about the desk behind him.

He crashed into the desk hard, which drove the breath from his body and stole his balance from under him, eyes falling shut as he winced with the blow, one hand darting out to catch the desk and keep him from falling, sending a few papers flying. The gasp of breath from his lungs ignited a tongue of flame that blazed over his body in less than a second.

Leaning against the desk, Ed's eyes widened, meeting Havoc's shocked and alarmed ones for just an instant before more fire flared up around him as Falman's paper's caught, conflagration skittering hungrily to turn them to curling pieces of ash.

Al cried out, reaching for Ed. Ed reached back and caught his hand in a metal grip, wide gold eyes set in a face of fire, and Al, in a practiced motion, hauled him up and onto his shoulders, where Ed balanced easily, hands set on Al's helmet head, fire crackling from his clothes to lick the solid steel armor.

Ed hated it when he burned things by mistake; Al thought that this was the least he could do for his older brother. After all, Al wouldn't burn.

Mustang flicked his wrist at the flames (apparently needing some sort of flourish) and a crackle of alchemy silenced the flames, leaving most of Falman's (and some of Fuery and Breda's) papers in ashes and his desk badly scorched.

The ensuing silence was almost deafening. Ed flinched as every gaze went to him, still blazing and flickering with ember-bright intensity, heating the metal of Al's shoulders and head to a strong degree. Ed looked away, scowling. Al didn't meet their eyes, either, head dropped slightly as if in shame.

"Boss?" Havoc blurted. Painfully slowly, Ed dragged his eyes to Havoc's, but then let them drop again when the man said nothing more.

"Damn," Breda breathed, eyes tracking the curve of the flame that made up Ed's braid. Al tilted his head away.

"I didn't know it went that far," Hawkeye murmured, eyes narrowed, gaze sharp. Mustang stole a glance at her, slightly surprised, but quickly returned his gaze to Ed, navy eyes dark.

"Fullmetal." Ed flinched. "This has gone on long enough. You can't handle this yourself at all, can you?"

Mutely, Ed shook his head, ashamed.

"Handle what, _exactly?"_ Falman asked cautiously, eyes on the black scorch mark on his desk, seeking confirmation for something about which he was almost certain.

It was Al who answered, voice soft and subdued, steel plates beginning to turn orange under Ed's flaming touch.

"His mutation."

* * *

It was an hour later that Ed finally flickered out. Even after that, he was quiet, and he silently helped Falman redo the burnt paperwork while Mustang set a sticky note on his desk and dialled the number, mouth a grim slash.

"Xavier Institute? This is Colonel Mustang, of the Amestrian military. I'd like to report a young mutant."

Ed felt a few gazes settle on him and bent over a little more.


	3. Chapter 3

No one in Mustang's office had said a word, Ed was sure of it. They were far too loyal and they liked him and Al far too much. All the same, word of Ed's mutation had spread with a speed not seen since Ed had taken the State Alchemist exam. By the next evening, everyone from the Fuhrer in Central to the lady at the front desk knew.

Arrangements for Ed's departure were made in record time, and Saturday morning found Ed just outside East Command, gathered together with those who were seeing him off. To his surprise, there were far more than he'd expected.

Al was there, of course, sticking close to his big brother, fretting, large metal shoulders hunched with worry as he checked and double checked that yes, Ed had his bags, and yes, he would _be good._

The office, too, was there, and Ed wasn't _that_ surprised, really. Mustang scanned the skies with narrowed navy eyes, and Hawkeye scanned the ground, keeping a lookout, as always. Havoc scratched his head, a cigarette perched in his mouth, looking uncomfortable and unsure of what to do with himself. Breda was eating – big surprise there. He leaned against a pole looking wholly unconcerned, but his gaze flickered in a manner that gave the game away. Falman stood straight, speaking quietly with Fuery, who looked slightly anxious, glancing with some worry at Ed. Ed looked back expectantly, and he flushed and looked away again.

To Ed's surprise (which exasperated Al – he'd told Ed, hadn't he?), the office hadn't actually minded at all, once they'd had time to get used to the idea. Havoc, having had no idea what a mutant was before six months ago, had very few preconceived notions, and even fewer prejudices. Falman cited several papers which suggested that mutants were actually the next step in human evolution, and Breda just shrugged and snorted at him.

In addition to them, Major Armstrong was also hovering, looking large and sparkling, though perhaps a little duller than usual with the mood permeating the group – it was hard to forget why they were there, and both he and Hawkeye had been in his place before, if with substantially less generally hazardous powers. Hughes wasn't there, but he'd sent his well wishes the day before, promising that he'd save the best pictures to show Ed when he returned.

Strangely, Ed wasn't reassured.

Eventually, a dot appeared on the horizon, and soon, it manifested itself into a large, black jet. Ed's eyes widened slightly, gold eyes tracking it with a hint of wonder.

Amestris' self-imposed isolationism had had a number of consequences; quite aside from minimal trade of essentials such as food and goods, its technology was years behind other countries', aside from the most important of technology. Ed knew, for example, that each military base had three computers, five in Central, and that each of the largest libraries had one as well.

There was also exactly one, little-used airport on the outskirts of Central, and Ed himself had never actually seen an airplane, there having never been one taking off or landing during his few visits to the capital city.

Beside him, Al let out a soft, awed sound of wonder, and Ed tipped his head to grin at him. The other soldiers had stood up straight, and they, too, were watching the steadily approaching airplane.

Finally, the stealth-black jet touched down in front of them, and the side opened up. A man with brown hair and dark sunglasses stepped out of it, head turning slightly as his gaze ran over them. Finally, he said aloud, voice clear and carefully neutral (which Ed thought said more than a tone ever could),

"Major Edward Elric?"

Ed's grin dropped slightly, and his head followed, gaze moving from Al to the man. "Yeah," he said with deliberate confidence, striding forward, reaching to his feet and slinging his black duffle bag – stuffed full of clothes and books and one spare leg, among other things – over one shoulder.

A surprised expression crossed the man's face, just for a moment, and was swiftly followed by a resigned, wary one – one Ed recognized from his early days as a 'dog of the military', before he was 'the Hero of the People'.

Still, the man moved to meet him, holding out one hand. Ed suspected that, behind those sunglasses, his eyes were studying Ed, measuring him carefully. That was okay. Mustang did the same thing, before.

"Scott Summers," he returned finally, shaking Ed's hand. "I'm the headmaster of the Xavier Institute." He nodded to the group. "Ready to say goodbye?"

"Yeah," Ed muttered, letting go. He turned and smiled wanly at the others. "Well, I guess it's time to go."

"Yep," Havoc agreed easily. "See ya, boss."

"We'll miss your noise," Breda added with a smirk. "Try to grow some while you're gone, yeah?"

Ed scowled at him darkly. "Who are you calling short?" he demanded, bristling slightly. Breda looked vaguely disappointed at the mild response.

"Good luck, Major," Falman put in, with Fuery nodding in agreement.

"Stay safe," Hawkeye ordered. Ed smiled a little at that, too.

"Be cautious, Edward Elric," Armstrong added, booming voice toned down to the Major's idea of an undertone. "It would not do for you to come to harm."

Ed grinned a little. "Right," he agreed readily enough. He reached and shook Armstrong's hand before Mustang's landed on his shoulder, leaving him to look up at the man with some confusion.

Mustang smiled at him slightly, a smirk on his mouth and a hint of concern in his eyes. "Well, Fullmetal, I suppose this is goodbye for now." He shook his head. "You really are a most troublesome subordinate." Ed scowled at him. Mustang's smirk widened. "Get yourself under control, understood? I want you back here within a year."

Ed gave him a considering look before smirking. "No problem, Colonel Bastard."

Mustang sighed dramatically at the name, but forged bravely on. "Don't forget, your assessment is in October. We'll have to send someone to give it to you if you aren't back by then." Here, he grumbled something about paperwork with a depressed look, making Edward snicker at him mercilessly. "And make sure you don't get lost. We're not sure how good they are at finding little people-"

 _"Who're you calling little?"_ Ed demanded, scowling at him. Mustang smirked.

"Oh, and-" Quietly, Mustang pulled a folder out of his jacket and gave it to Ed, who looked at it confusedly. In an undertone – a genuine undertone – he continued, "A mission, while you're there. Don't mess up, Fullmetal." He smirked. "It reflects badly on me."

Ed scowled at him again. "Egomaniac," he complained aloud. Backing away slightly and tucking the folder into his own coat, he added, "See ya, Colonel."

Mustang nodded at him, and Ed turned away, facing Al, who was looking at him, shoulders hunched and head dipped in that way that Ed knew _always_ meant that Al was sad about something.

Ed offered his little brother a slight, reassuring smile. "This is it, little brother. It'll be a while before we see each other again." Regret tinged his tone, hand not holding his bag stuffed in his pocket.

"Yeah," Al agreed, subdued. Scott started visibly at Al's high, twelve-year-old voice. He perked up slightly. "I'm going to try and get a civilian visa, though. I know it's really hard-"

"Understatement," Havoc muttered. Ed wondered where he'd learned that.

"-but I think it would be worth it, especially if this is going to take a year, right, brother?"

"Right," Ed confirmed, smiling at Al. "And I promise I won't stop looking, okay? There's not a lot of information on alchemy on the outside, but I can check out a few other routes."

"OK," Al agreed, voice a little brighter. Then, sincerely, "I'll miss you, brother."

Ed shuffled his feet slightly, scuffing one foot across the ground. "I'll miss you, too, Al." He looked up, grinned, and rapped his little brother on the chest. "Take care of Winry and Granny for me, alright, Al?"

"I will," Al promised. "And be nice, okay?"

Ed rolled his eyes dramatically. "Yeah, yeah."

Ed smiled at Al, and Ed knew that if he could, Al would be smiling back.

Then, decisively, he turned on his heel and walked away from them, toward the jet.

"Ready," he offered to Scott, who nodded at him and then indicated for him to go first.

Ed walked on to the jet and looked back just once, waving at the group on the ground, and Al waved enthusiastically back. The two brothers waved at each other – much to the adults' amusement – right up until the huge door shut, cutting them off.

Ed sighed and dropped his arm, turning around to find Scott at the front, messing with some switches and buttons Ed was distinctly unfamiliar with.

He walked forward, looking back and forth with some curiosity, and then dropped down into a seat with a sigh, bag falling to the floor.

"So what's this?" he asked Scott, looking down at the floor, one hand drifting up to feel the folder crinkle slightly under his fingers.

"The Blackbird," Scott answered tersely, flicking another switch. "Professor Xavier's personal jet, you could say."

Ed 'hm'ed. "How's it work?"

Scott glanced back, just a flash of sunglasses before he looked back to the front. "It's not important. It's more than a little complicated."

Ed nearly snapped that he could handle complicated – he wasn't called a prodigy for nothing – but Al's voice echoed in his ears _(Brother, please be nice!)_ and he sighed again. "Yeah, alright," he muttered, as much to Al as to Scott.

Silence consumed the jet, oppressive and awkward. Ed shifted slightly, scarcely-controlled heat roiling discontentedly under his skin, and turned his head to look out the window.

After a time, Scott coughed, shattering the silence but not the tension. "So… Fullmetal, right?" He didn't wait for an answer. "Heavy name." A brief pause. Ed noted that he seemed tense and winced. Yeah. Definitely one of _those._ "So, uh, what made you decide to join the military?"

"Personal things," Ed hedged, about as comfortable as the pilot.

Scott 'huh'ed at him, but he even he couldn't really do anything with that. A few seconds passed, and then he tried, "What kind of work do you do?"

"It varies," Ed mumbled, very much wanting out of this conversation. He hunched over a little, boring a hole into the window. "A lot of what I do isn't assigned by the military. They give me a pretty free reign."

"Mm."

Normally, Scott would ask a kid about school for conversation, but he was pretty sure that Ed didn't go to school – a job, especially a military one, wouldn't leave time for that. The problem was that that left very few open topics for conversation. Hence their current… situation.

"Who were the people you said goodbye to?" Scott tried again.

Ed hunched over a little more. "The office," he mumbled. "The Major. My little brother."

"Not your parents?" Too late, Scott realized that that had _all_ the makings of a bad question.

"Mom's dead and my father's a bastard."

Scott gave up.

An hour and a half passed in deeply uncomfortable silence before the crinkling of paper sliced through the silence, loud in the enclosed space, and Scott glanced back to see Edward opening a thin folder, bored eyes scanning its contents halfheartedly. His heart dropped.

"So, uh… what's that?" he asked, as casually as he could manage.

Edward shrugged, closing the folder again and putting it away. "Assignment," he said noncommitally.

Ed didn't much like talking about the assignments he was given, especially the ones that weren't leads. If he had his way, he wouldn't do them, but he knew that really, there had been very little chance of _not_ being given an assignment on this trip.

It was an opportunity the military just couldn't pass up.

Though in code – all State Alchemist assignments were – Ed could read it almost like it was written straight, he was so used to it by now. (Or maybe those were his habits as an alchemist coming through – the State code had nothing on his personal one.) Roughly translated, it was a research assignment: to figure out how mutant abilities were alchemically possible.

It was signed by the Fuhrer.

Ed sighed and looked out the window, peeking down at the clouds below them, an endless field of fluffy white. Arrays – to make clouds from water vapor, to make rainclouds from regular clouds, to disperse clouds into the surrounding air, anything – ran absently through his mind, a side effect of his trip through the Gate.

The Gate had irrevocably changed the way he saw things, the way he saw everything. Alchemy, once his passion, became a part of himself, inseparable from his personality or his instincts.

The same as that, his mutation had changed him. He knew he'd always been a little too bright – in more ways than one – and too hot-tempered for his own good, but after his mutation awoke, it magnified, exacerbating little quirks into huge, glaring traits.

Edward knew better than anyone, save Alphonse and maybe the Rockbells, that he'd changed after the transmutation, he didn't need to be told. He wasn't sure it was for the better, either – but then again, he'd never again do anything so monumentally _stupid._

He sighed, a low, soft sound that had Scott glancing over at him for a brief moment before he returned his attention the controls that Ed was so curious about.

Ed was getting better about knowing what he could and couldn't handle, but not by much. Still, he'd have liked to have been able to control his own _ability._

Fire mimicry. That was for sure, Ed thought bitterly. Harder to control for the fact that it was more than just a power, it was a trait in and of itself, spilling over from 'ability' into himself the same way alchemy had. Not only that, but it was a constant presence in him.

Edward Elric had once been a boy with a hot temper and gold eyes and that was it. That was all. Now he had a fire in his heart and arrays at his fingertips to go with it, and he was something more than he had ever wanted to be.

He huffed and leaned his head against the window, letting his eyes fall shut. But there was nothing he could do about it – he just had to push past it, push past everything. There was no getting their old life back, but if he tried, if he just tried hard enough- he could make sure Al got something close to it. Not the same, never again, but close enough.

And that would be good enough for Ed.

Without meaning to, Ed fell asleep.

It took a few more hours of Scott debating with himself, but finally, he sighed, set the Blackbird to autopilot, and stood up, striding toward the sleeping boy and picking up the abandoned folder, anxiety niggling at him insistently.

Anxiety that only magnified when his eyes fell upon… an overdue tax notice.

The assignment was coded.

Scott's frown deepened, he closed the folder again, and turned away, heading back for the controls and settling at them, willing himself deliberately not to look back to Ed.

They'd need to watch him.

Ed woke up just as they touched down, and Scott nodded at him shortly before leading him off the jet, leaving Ed to sweep his bag back up and follow.

He looked around, gold eyes wide with startlement and a little, excited smile on his face, taking in the huge mansion that was Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters.

People scurried about, some intent on their destination, a few carrying papers, others absorbed in conversation with the people beside them. Some hovered around the grounds, clustered in little groups engaged in avid conversation, and one or two were stationed in place, reading or drawing.

"This way, Fullmetal," Scott said, drawing Ed's attention back to him. "You need to meet with Professor Xavier before you do anything else."

Ed nodded and followed the man, going back to looking around.

It wasn't a bad place, really. Ed spotted a library out of the corner of his eye – not of a bad size, either – and wondered if there were any worthwhile avenues of investigation on the outside. It was definitely worth considering.

Well, if Ed had to get help – which he _hated_ doing, by the way, screw you, mutant power – he supposed that there were worse places.

Down the marble hallway, around more corners than Edward cared to count, and finally, Scott stopped before a door and knocked.

"Professor, I have Fullmetal."

Within moments, a voice, soft and pensive, answered. "Very well, send him in."

Scott nodded to Ed, who nodded back, shifting uncomfortably, reached out, turned the doorknob, and entered, while Scott lingered just outside.

Inside, the man who must have been Charles Xavier was already looking at him, gaze steady, mouth pulled in a taut, but slight, frown, hands intertwined and in his lap as he sat in his wheelchair, tension visible in the line of his shoulders and caution in the shadow of his eyes.

Still, that in no way detracted from the courtesy in his voice as the man greeted, "Edward Elric. Welcome to Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters."

Ed straightened up slightly and offered a small smile. "Thanks."

He could get used to being here, Ed told himself. People would warm up to him eventually, he would get everything done that he needed to here, and everything would be fine. Just fine.

"Edward." Edward glanced back up to Professor Xavier, not having realized that he'd dropped his gaze. "I wish you to have a good time here, but I must remind you of a few things before I send you off." Ed nodded, looking at him expectantly. "This is both a school and a sanctuary. As such, I would remind you that you must conduct yourself as such. The safety of my students, you understand, is my top priority."

Oh.

Ed looked away, unable to keep his fists from clenching slightly as the hope that had come when he knew that he was going to get help with his – _problem –_ started to trickle and spin, as if down a drain. "Yeah, okay," he muttered. He got his drift, alright.

Xavier smiled. It did nothing to soften the sting of his words. "Thank you, Edward. You may go."

Ed nodded, still not looking at him, and turned, pushing his way roughly out the door.

Whatever. He just had to get this done fast, was all. In and out. A rudimentary search of the library would tell him if there was anything worth looking into concerning getting Al's body back, then maybe a week or two to figure out about mutant powers, if he tried hard. After that, he'd be free as soon as he got a handle on his own powers.

That was it.

As Scott led Ed down the hall again, Ed's bad temper danced across his face, and he was more acutely aware of the flames surging in his chest than he had been since he'd caught fire in – and to – the Colonel's office. It seemed that Scott could tell, too, because he was even more quiet and cautious than he had been thus far.

Finally, he stopped in front of a door and nodded at Ed. "This'll be your room, Fullmetal. John, your roommate, is a fire user as well, so it's already fireproof."

Ed nodded and pushed the door open. Scott followed him in and a boy inside, leaning back on his bed, halfheartedly reading a book, looked up with a raised eyebrow and then said irritably, "Who the hell's that?"

Ed instinctively scowled back, one fist clenching, automail tightening around the strap of his duffle bag. Before he could snap at the other boy, though, Scott answered,

"John, this is Edward Elric. He's a new student from Amestris, and he'll be staying with you for the time being." His voice lowered slightly as he continued, dusty dry like a hot desert, "He's also a part of their military, so please try not to cause an international incident."

Both John and Ed scowled at him for that one, but Scott just pulled out a timetable and gave it to Ed. "This is your timetable while you're here. Normally, you wouldn't have classes on a Saturday, but you need to take placement tests to determine if you're up to standard, seeing as you've been… occupied."

Ed refrained from snarking at the headmaster and instead nodded, taking the timetable without a word (if he said anything, he wasn't sure he could stick to Al's request). He scanned it quickly, dropping his bag on the second, clearly unused bed.

Scott turned to leave and nodded to them both, but if he said anything as he left, Ed didn't hear it.

Honestly, if there was one thing Ed _didn't_ want to do right now, it was go take tests. Despite having slept for a good deal of the way there, he was tired, and just generally wanted nothing more than to go to sleep right then and there.

But, as usual, there was work to be done first.

"So. Military, huh?"

The sneer in John's voice was unmistakeable, matching the one Pinako had once held in her own, before Ed had joined, and Ed barely spared him a glance up as he resigned himself to his fate. "That's right. Just over a year now. That a problem?" Meeting challenge for challenge.

John just snorted, derisive, and slumped back again, going back to scanning the pages. "Nah. Don't have time for assholes."

"Neither do I," Ed snapped back, so _done_ with these people and their _assumptions_ and the utter _crap_ that accompanied them. He turned and stamped out, intent on finding the first class, Chemistry. Under his breath, he added, "And this place just has too damn many of them."

After some fair amount of searching, he found it, and the teacher nodded at him with a forced, small smile _(not again)_ and handed him his test.

To his surprise – he had been out of conventional schooling for years now, after all – the test was beyond easy, not even requiring half a moment's thought from question to question. He finished it within half an hour and handed it back.

English was harder; the skills and information on the test weren't exactly things he used on a regular basis, unlike Chemistry, so he found himself drawing from every reference to them he could recall being mentioned in passing, whether by Pinako or Mustang or Izumi, or anyone else, for that matter.

Come lunchtime, he hadn't had any time to meet anyone, so he got his lunch without a word and found himself sitting alone. He didn't mind so much, or rather, he wouldn't have, had word of him and his apparently dubious origins not clearly spread far and wide, inducing more whispering than Ed cared for.

He ignored it the best he could, but the sinking feeling in his gut was harder to push back, and he felt feverish, fire becoming a real threat if he couldn't _calm the hell down_ soon.

After lunch came more tests, some of which were painfully easy, and others, like History, a bit harder. Nothing some reading wouldn't clear up, Ed supposed, but also not worth his time, not when he had other things he needed to do.

It was past four by the time he finished all of them and Ed was _exhausted,_ but of course, there would be none of that, not yet; the moment he walked out of the last classroom, yawning, he heard,

"Edward."

He started slightly, fire flashing across his face and disappearing again almost too fast to see, and turned his head to see a woman striding toward him, with white hair and a businesslike look. "Yeah?" he asked cautiously.

She stopped in front of him and stood confidently, comfortable in her own skin. He tipped his head back slightly to look at her as she said crisply, "Call me Storm. The Professor asked me to be the one to help you with your ability, as we don't have a fire mutant on staff at the moment."

He blinked for a moment, stifled a yawn, and nodded. "Alright." He tipped his head at her curiously. "What can you do?"

She smiled slightly, turning on her heel and walking away, an unspoken order to 'follow' in her wake. "I control the weather," she explained. "Anything from rainclouds or wind to lightning."

He smiled a little, too. "That's cool," he told her honestly. "All I can do is set myself on fire."

She smiled wryly. "That's an interesting way of putting it."

He shrugged, muffling another yawn. "So what are we doing?"

"We're going to one of the training rooms," Storm explained, turning a corner. "The mansion has several of them set up, for obvious reasons, with various degrees and types of reinforcements. For instance, I learned to control my powers in a room where everything was fastened down and waterproof. On the other hand, everything in the room you'll be using is inflammable."

He 'huh'ed thoughtfully. "That makes sense."

"We won't be working on control today," she added. "Right now, we're just going to go over what you know so far." She opened a door. "Here we are."

Ed followed her into the room and looked around. It was well lit, colored a soft, warm orange, more of a sunset color than a creamy one. A few tables were set up with various metal implements, and nearly everything he saw was either metal or stone, nothing that would catch fire or melt easily.

Storm sat him down at one of the tables, taking a seat across from him. "So, Edward. Do you have any idea of how your powers work, on a technical scale?"

Ed stifled yet _another_ yawn and thought for a moment. He'd actually contemplated this quite a few times; it had intrigued his scientist side ever since the ability had popped up. "If I had to guess, the mutant gene gives me the ability to increase my temperature until it spills over, when my mass is temporarily converted into thermal energy given partially solid form, somewhere between real mass and real energy. When I deactivate my power, it converts back like nothing ever happened." After a pause, he added, "I'm also immune to burns, even when I'm like this."

And a good thing too, or else his automail would burn him badly every time he cooled down from that state. And that would _suck._

She blinked, once, and then laughed lightly. "Oh, that's right. You're an alchemist, aren't you?"

If there was a brittle undertone to her voice, well, Ed wasn't about to mention it. Instead, he nodded, looking at her expectantly.

She sighed. "Well, I'll admit that's more than I expected. Now, there's just one more thing before I'll let you go. Care to demonstrate?"

He nodded, having expected that, and stood up from his chair, pushing away from it with some reluctance and moving closer to the middle of the room. He turned to face her, closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and held it for one, two, three…

He exhaled, and fire bloomed from his chest, warmth encasing him and flooding his entire body, turning feverish heat to something more like a very warm day, and with the struggle to repress it released, excited energy buzzed along his limbs and set his mind to work.

See, the thing people didn't get was that Ed _liked_ being on fire. It was a feeling second only to the rush of alchemy – in fact, Ed would have to say that it was remarkably similar. He just didn't like it when he accidentally caused damage when in this state, which happened on a fairly consistent basis.

An interested 'mm' drew his attention back to Storm, who looked him up and down thoughtfully. The happy rush faded quickly as her gaze lingered on his right arm and left leg – despite both being concealed, the fact that no fire flickered out from beneath his clothes there was blatantly obvious, and he scowled at her. She asked anyway.

"Edward, what's wrong with your arm and leg?"

Ed scowled hard at her and crossed his arms. "None of your damn business," he snarled, head jerking away. They disliked him enough, he didn't need any more of their _crap_ because of anything more.

He was tired, he was _grumpy,_ and he wanted nothing more to do with any of them, not today and, if it wasn't so strictly necessary, not ever.

Storm was undeterred. "Is there some sort of block?"

 _"None of your damn business!"_ Ed repeated, trying not to stomp his foot. Despite himself, the orange of his fire lightened, intensity increasing with his temper.

Storm saw it, of course, and thankfully, she let it go – for now. Ed wasn't fool enough to think she wouldn't go back to it later, especially since she was clearly under the impression that it was a psychological problem.

Which it wasn't.

Dammit.

Ed forced himself to look back to her as she sighed again and conceded, "I think that's enough for today, but-" Of course there was a but. "-we'll be getting back to that later." And of course that was it. "For now, I want you to put yourself back out." Heh, so she was going with his chosen terminology, then.

Ed took a deep breath, both forcing himself to calm down and suffocating his fire, which was _not_ his favorite way of doing this (admittedly, his favorite way of doing this was to let himself burn out, which took _hours)_. But, nonetheless, after a few minutes, it flickered and died, and he solidified back into his natural fleshy form. She nodded at him.

"Good."

He huffed slightly, the tension back around his chest, and turned and left, completely unable to get away fast enough, anger not yet gone.

John was in the room when he returned, flicking a lighter absently, but he turned a moody glare on Ed the moment he entered the room. He didn't say anything, just glared, and Ed scowled back as he went to his duffle bag and snatched out a set of pajamas (complete with socks, seeing as he didn't want to get roped into explaining his automail) and the cordless phone that was in the room. Then he turned toward the bathroom, and if he thought he was going to escape comment, he was wrong.

"What, afraid to change in front of other people?"

Ed snarled at him silently and slammed the door behind him, entering the dual-sink bathroom (which contained one shower) in a huff. He showered quickly and skipped his maintenance, instead going straight for the phone and dialling a number he knew by heart.

"Rockbell Automail, Winry speaking."

"Hey, Winry," he said, unable to hide the restlessness in his tone. "Can I talk to Al?"

"Oh, I see how it is," she huffed, but she seemed to hear something in his tone and passed him off to Alphonse quickly enough, which at the moment was all Ed cared about. (He'd probably be paying for that later, though.)

"Brother!" Al's voice was familiar and pleased. "That was fast. I thought you'd be busy."

The tension fled from Ed's body and he slid to the ground, leaning against the wall tiredly. "Yeah, well…" Okay, he had nothing. Well, nothing that wouldn't worry Alphonse. "You got to the Rockbells alright, then?"

"Yeah," Al agreed easily. "What about you, brother? Did your journey go well?"

Yep. Hours with a person who had something-or-other against the military. It went great. "Well enough."

Ed and Al talked back and forth for easily half an hour before Ed decided that yes, he really did have to go, John's banging on the door was getting irritating. They said their goodbyes and he passed by his none-too-friendly roommate without a second glance or an ounce of regret, and the door slammed behind the other boy as Ed collapsed into bed, sighing and lifting his gaze to the ceiling.

Yeah, it was going _great._


	4. Chapter 4

_It was dark. Ed couldn't see. Everything was gone._

_Then it wasn't dark anymore and Ed still couldn't see, because it was all too bright, pure white, and that could only mean-_

_"Oh, Mr. Al-chem-ist."_

_Ed stiffened up and he didn't want to turn around, but he did. His eyes fell on the shadowed outline of the Truth, marked out by that mirthful grin._

_"What price have you paid for your sins, Mr. Al-chem-ist? Do you really think an arm and a leg will suffice for stepping into my territory_ and _for what you did to your brother? What you always do to those around you?" The Truth chuckled as Ed stepped back, eyes wide and scared. "You're so funny, Mr. Al-chem-ist. What do you think I should take next?"_

_"What do you think I should take next?"_

**_"What do you think I should take next, Mr. Al-chem-ist?"_ **

Ed sat bolt upright and woke with a gasp, eyes wide and sweat plastering his bangs to his forehead, a dangerous flush spread across his cheeks. It was a moment before his breathing slowed down and the flush faded, Edward registering where he was.

Right. The Institute. He'd gotten there just the day before.

Edward sighed and laid back, catching his breath for a moment, and then rolled out of bed. _Time to face the day, Elric._

He smiled bitterly. Just another morning.

Edward dressed quickly and headed for – he checked the time and winced – lunch.

Ed made his way swiftly through the half-occupied halls and got his lunch, locating an empty table to eat at. He sat down and focused on his sandwiches, eating the first absently, finger tapping the table, foot tapping on the floor.

He didn't have class that day, so Ed figured he could get a start on his research. His mind wandered off in that direction as he ate, noting with a wince that the bread grew warm as he gripped it.

He was pulled from his thoughts when someone cleared their throat behind him. He set the sandwich down, not really hungry anyway, and turned to the man expectantly.

The man regarded him for a moment, and then said, "I'm Gambit, cher. Now c'mon. Tha professor wants ta see ya."

Ed shrugged, nodded, and stood up, throwing his food away and following the man out.

"What's he want?" Ed asked Gambit, looking up at him.

Gambit shrugged. "Don' know. Guess you'll have ta find out, hm?"

Ed shrugged again and looked to the front.

They reached the office soon enough and Gambit took off again just about right away, leaving Ed to enter alone.

The Professor was in the same place as before, waiting for Ed, that same, slightly friendly, slightly forbidding expression on his face. Ed wondered how he could pull that off, then decided that Mustang probably could too. He might even suggest it if the bastard caught him in a good mood.

Professor Xavier almost smiled – right, telepath – but the expression cleared away as Ed cocked his head at him expectantly, shifting restlessly, constantly, from foot to foot.

"Edward," Xavier greeted amiably. Ed glanced at him warily, still shifting, putting his hands in his pockets and pulling them out. Something about this was agitating him, and his fire was responding in a way he wasn't comfortable with. "You did quite well on your tests yesterday."

"Yeah," Ed replied cautiously. "Most of them weren't that hard."

"I'd almost think you had help." Xavier's eyes were piercing.

To his credit, Ed didn't hear a hint of pre-made assumptions in his voice or see them in his eyes, but his heart still dropped, fever heat clouding his mind slightly. "No. No help." He raised his chin, gold eyes challenging Xavier to accuse him again.

Xavier chuckled slightly, not put off in the least, fingers tapping as he kept his gaze on Ed, unwavering. "Hm. You're quite a smart boy, Edward. I don't believe there's much we can teach you in the way of science or math, so I suppose you'll have that time to yourself."

Ed shifted, once, right to left, again, left to right. "Can I spend that time in the library?"

Xavier eyed him curiously. "Certainly, if you wish."

Ed brightened slightly, put his hands in his pockets, took them out, and said, "Great! Was that it, Professor?"

Xavier made as if to smile. "Yes, it was. Good day, Edward."

Ed nodded, turned, and darted out. Waiting just outside the door was Scott, and he waved once. Scott nodded curtly back and Ed's face fell, deflating as Scott turned away, not noticing.

Ed headed off to the library and Scott entered Xavier's office, where Xavier tilted his head at him expectantly.

"Yes? Scott, what is it?"

Scott's face was unreadable. "His commanding officer gave him a folder before he left."

The gentle smile fell away, and Xavier's face grew grave. "I see. Do you know what it said?"

Scott shook his head. "No." He paused, weighed his words, and said finally, "It was in code."

Xavier's face sombered further, and he nodded. "I see," he repeated. "Thank you, Scott."

"What are you going to do about it?" Scott asked.

Xavier sighed. "I will give the boy a chance to come forward with it. If he does not…" He trailed off, but Scott understood. Child or not, Xavier would not leave a threat on the school grounds.

* * *

Ed was planning to go to the library, he really was, but he spotted the bored-looking boy – just about his age – sitting by himself under the tree and his feet changed course without his permission, approaching him.

The boy started and looked up as he approached. As soon as he realized who he was – with features as distinctive as Ed's, he apparently didn't need the introduction – he tensed, face going uneasy. Ed pretended not to notice and sat down a few feet away, smiling.

"Hey," he greeted, rubbing one hand across his arm restlessly, right heel tapping the ground. "My name's Ed. What's yours?"

He could make friends. He _could._

Sort of. Usually he had Al with him at this stage. His smile dimmed slightly and the boy continued to eye him warily.

"Bobby," the boy said finally, when it became clear that Ed wasn't going to go away.

Ed made himself keep smiling, rubbing up and down his automail arm, heating up. How did Al make this look so easy? "Hi, Bobby. Hey, do you mind showing me where the library is?" He'd had Scott point it out to him earlier, but it was a good conversation starter, right?

Bobby pointed. Yep, that was the library. And now he no longer had an excuse to stay here. Ed's heart sank.

"Thanks," Ed told him. Bobby nodded silently and Ed stood up, turned, and left.

Dammit, how did Al make that look so easy?

 

* * *

Ed didn't try that again. Despite what Mustang and Al seemed to think, Ed wasn't actually into self-inflicted pain, and by the end of the day, he was jittery as a drop of water on a hot pan.

He took the phone into the bathroom, ignored John's cursing, and called Winry's house again.

It was Al who picked up this time. "Brother?"

"Hey, Al," Ed greeted, sitting down on the floor and leaning back against the wall, left hand rubbing his knee, bouncing in place slightly, right foot dragging back and forth across the tile. "How's it going in Amestris?"

"Really well," Al replied, cheerful as usual. "I got started on trying to get that civilian visa. Lieutenant Havoc's right, brother, it really is hard. But the Colonel's helping me, so I think I'll be able to do it soon, okay?"

Ed smiled a little, bouncing slowing to a stop, though his hand and foot never faltered. "That's great," he told Al.

"What about you, brother?" Al asked, sounding worried. "Have you made any friends?"

No. "I'm working on it."

"Good." Ed could hear Al's smile; it was something of a comfort, something he'd clung to over the past two years. Even if he couldn't see it, he could always hear it.

They talked back and forth until Ed got bored of listening to John bang on the door, at which point he sighed.

"I have to go, Al. Talk to you tomorrow."

"Okay, brother," Al said softly. "I miss you."

"…I miss you too, Al."

He hung up and sighed, then, reluctantly, stood up and opened the door. John was frowning at him, and Ed forced a smirk and passed him, missing the way John's slight frown followed him out, before John went in and shut the door behind him.

 

* * *

"And extinguish."

Ed gritted his teeth and held his breath, squashing out his flame like a cloth wiping away water. It got a little easier each time, but, conversely, the pressure in the pit of his stomach was building, an ember nestled there as if to stay.

He looked up at Storm, who nodded at him. "Not bad for the end of your first week," the white-haired woman conceded, offering a halfhearted smile. "Extinguishing seems to be getting easier for you."

Ed nodded, shifting left to right. "Yeah, it is." Right to left. "Practice makes perfect, I guess."

"Very true," she agreed, smiling tightly. "Still not ready to tell me what's up with your arm and leg?"

Left to right. Right to left. He shook his head. If he could get through this without ever sharing anything about himself, at this point, he would. And if he got out of here tomorrow, it would be one day too slow.

She let it go and motioned for him to sit down at the table. He did, and almost instantly started tapping the table with one automail finger, resting his cheek on his flesh hand.

Ed was tired – he wasn't sleeping well – but he was restless, completely restless, and he knew exactly why, which didn't exactly help. After this session, he'd cooled off noticeably, which meant he could still handle books safely, but that didn't do anything for the energy surging under his skin.

"You're getting faster at switching between states," she continued, as though she'd never asked the question. "But it almost looks like it hurts to put yourself out. Does it?"

Ed shook his head again. _Tap tap._ No, it didn't hurt. _Tap tap tap._ It was uncomfortable, sure – forcing the transition back always was – but it didn't hurt and he'd had worse, anyway. _Tap tap. Tap tap._

She nodded, satisfied. "We'll work on partial transitions later. But your problem was control, correct?"

He nodded. _Tap tap._ "Yeah. I caught fire in the Colonel's office, and I'd been, uh… running hot, for a while before that."

She 'hm'ed. "And you haven't been getting much better at controlling your temperature, in either form." She paused, thinking a moment. "We'll see about that," she said finally, though she couldn't hide her sudden tension. _Tap tap tap._ "We'll meet again the day after tomorrow."

He nodded in acceptance, tapping his foot against the floor.

He was tired, but he couldn't stop moving. He sighed and shut his eyes for a moment, but opened them again when Storm asked casually,

"You know, I've known all this time that you've been in the military, but I don't think I've ever asked you about it. What's it like?"

Ed tensed, too, golden gaze falling to the floor and mouth twisting into something between a scowl and a frown. Reluctantly, though, he admitted, "Not as bad as you'd think. My CO is pretty…" He gritted his teeth. "Loose… with me. Lets me do my own thing most of the time." He glanced up at her and forced a smirk. _Tap tap tap._ Pretending he didn't see the look in her eyes. "Don't tell him I said that, though. He'll get a big head if he thinks I like him." Smirked. "Well, a bigger head."

"And what do you do for them?"

He liked Storm, Ed reminded himself. Storm hardly ever let her opinion of his choices get in the way, and he liked her. And she was making an effort. The least he could do was not sabotage it. He wasn't going to survive the time it took to gain control if he didn't have at least one person he got along with. "Whatever Mustang asks me to," he answered finally. "He lets me research most of the time."

Storm forced a smile, feigned interest on her face. He appreciated the effort, Ed reminded himself. "What sorts of things do you research?"

Maybe he didn't.

He chose the answer Mustang had told him to give, which he didn't normally, because if people didn't know what you were looking for, they couldn't help. "Top secret. Not allowed to say."

Wrong answer. Storm's expression closed off – _tap tap tap –_ and she smiled, all fake. "I see. Well, I suppose it's time for you to go, Edward. I'll see you next session."

Ed, expression gone uncomfortable, nodded and hopped up. Shifted left to right, right to left, left to right, and then waved at Storm and left.

Could have gone worse, he supposed.

Could have gone a lot better, too.

 

* * *

Later that day, Kitty was passing by the Professor's office, and she heard the new student's name. Her interest piqued, she paused curiously.

"And Edward has told you nothing?" That was Professor Xavier, voice heavy. Kitty spared a moment to wonder why, but her interest soon passed over to the other person – Storm, Kitty realized.

"No. He's as silent as ever."

Xavier sighed. "I see. How goes his progress?"

It was Storm that sighed this time. She must be in charge of his training, Kitty realized. It made sense – while mutant types were by no means set into firm categories, Storm and Edward Elric were both distinctly forces of nature. Kitty thought wistfully of what that would be like, then decided it would be awful and listened instead.

"Not well, I'm afraid." Kitty frowned. Edward was a little scary, sure – his eyes were strange and intent and kind of creepy, and Kitty was a little scared just because he was apparently in the notoriously violent Amestrian military – but having an out-of-control power was awful for anyone, and for a moment, she felt a pang of sympathy. "He still has problems extinguishing himself, and I've never known him to be at a normal temperature, which could easily become problematic."

"I see." Xavier paused, pensive, and Kitty held her breath. "Well, we'll work on him. And others?"

Kitty sighed and moved on, thinking for a long moment, but then she shook her head and tucked her thoughts away.

 

* * *

"Hey, Al."

"Hi, brother." Al sounded cheerful; that was good. Ed smiled a little, tapped the wall. "How was your day?"

Got avoided. Strange looks from John. The teachers all pretended he didn't exist. He was pretty sure Gambit had shot him a nasty look, which was disappointing but ultimately fine. He just wanted out of this place, really, which was a problem because, despite what Storm said, he knew he wasn't actually making any progress. He was too emotionally out-of-whack, which wasn't changing anytime soon. "Fine." He overruled Al's inevitable protest by asking, "What about yours?"

Successfully distracted – he must be out of practice, Ed thought wistfully – Al beamed through the phone. "Great! I'm helping out around East Command – the office says hi, by the way." He'd moved on from Winry's to stay at East City the day before. He said it would be nice to see the office for more than a few days for once, which made Ed feel a little guilty. "The first step is all done, so I can get started on the paperwork I need for the visa."

"Yeah? That's good." Tap tap tap.

"Yeah!" Al agreed enthusiastically. "Oh, you remember that nice flower shop lady?"

Ed 'mm-hm'ed expectantly.

"Well, I was helping fix things around her shop earlier-"

This went on for some time, and Ed listened contentedly to his brother talking, not talking much himself, just tap-tap-tapping the floor.

Finally, Al stumbled over a mention of East Command, and Ed's attention sharpened.

"Al?"

Al hesitated, and the clank of shifting armor came over the phone. But, finally, almost too quietly to be heard, Al said, "And… it passed, brother."

Ed's heart sank, but he asked anyway. "What passed?"

"The XMI protocol."

For a long, too long, minute, both of them were silent, light gone like a smothered candle.

"…Oh," Ed managed, head dropping, drawing up his knees and resting his chin on them.

Al may not have said it, not out loud, but his hesitation was an open book to Ed. The main reason, no doubt, that it had gone through – at least so soon – was because of him.

 _Where else can they hide,_ they must have been asking, _if they can even be under our own noses? In our military? Where else can they hide, who else can be a mutant, if our very own People's Alchemist is one?_

Ed smiled bitterly – just another thing he'd messed up for other people.

"It's not that bad, brother," Al said after a moment, voice going for encouraging, coming out uncertain, worried. "Mutants need to register with the military, so they have a masterlist now, and mutants in the military wear a special insignia next to their rank. Lieutenant Hawkeye has one, and Major Armstrong, and I think one of the regular soldiers. Frederick, I think. It looks really cool, brother, I think you'll like it."

"Oh," Ed repeated softly. Then, trying to perk up his voice, he said, "Part of the uniform, Al. No way I'm wearing it anyway."

Al was silent, and Ed deflated. Tap tap. Tap tap tap.

He could feel the topic change before Al even started speaking.

"Brother? How are things really going over there?"

"…Fine, Al. I told you."

"Oh."

They both knew Ed was lying, and they both knew Al didn't believe him for a moment. He'd watched Ed pretend he was fine too often for that, and Ed suddenly wondered if that was why Al had sounded so unusually cheerful, even for him. Why he'd been so reluctant to bring up the XMI protocol.

Ed suddenly worried that if something went wrong, Al wouldn't tell him.

"Anyway!" He forced himself to perk up, better than before. "How's Winry? Was she alright when you left?"

It was a poor change of topic, but Al accepted it anyway, bless him. "Winry's good, brother. She mentioned something about a new design for your automail before I left."

"Really?" Ed wondered if he should wince or be pleased. "What's it do?"

"I'm not really sure, but I think she said something about finer movement controls…"

Al talked and Ed listened, oxygen granted to a sputtering fire.

 

* * *

A week and a half in, Edward was again called into Professor Xavier's office, and Xavier looked at him with those same piercing eyes. Ed almost felt that something was a little different from the previous few times – that things had shifted a little to the darker side.

Uneasily, Ed dismissed the thought and focused on the Professor.

"Edward," Xavier greeted. "How are you?"

 _Just great,_ Ed thought bitterly. "Fine."

"Are you sure?" Xavier pressed, leaning forward just a little. In response, Ed leaned back, gold eyes looking at the blue ones uneasily. Left to right. Right to left. Left to right. Clench, unclench, tap tap. "Edward, is there anything you want to tell me? Anything at all?"

Things, so many things came to Ed's mind that they fell over each other, jumbling. Everyone seemed to have the wrong idea, he didn't like it here at all, his training was no longer helping at all and he was in fact getting worse.

Ed opened his mouth and all that came out was, "No, nothing."

"I see."

Yeah, Xavier seemed to say that about him a lot. Ed's eyes shifted down. Right to left, left to right, tap tap tap, tap tap tap. He burned, ember in his stomach, heat in his skin. He couldn't even go to the library anymore – the training cooled him down, but never for long, not anymore.

"Very well, Edward. You may go."

Ed barely gave himself time to flash Xavier a forced smile before he virtually fled, and, silently, Xavier promised to himself,

_One more chance._

Three days later, two full weeks into Ed's stay, the boy still hadn't come forward, and so, one last time, Xavier called him into the office. Ed looked at him confusedly – with good reason, Xavier admitted.

"Edward." Xavier paused. Weighing his words. "Scott told me that you were given a coded assignment before you left." He paused again. Considering. Hesitant and suspicious. His piercing blue eyes settled on Edward, who was paling rapidly. "What was it?"

One moment. Two, three. Four. Five. Xavier waited.

"What?" Ed managed. It was almost more than he could say, like smoke coughed out of his throat, scraping against it roughly, leaving it raw.

Was that what all of this had been about? All of it? Or even most of it. Ed swallowed, heat roiling, steaming, anger and hurt and betrayal and _why was everyone so damned suspicious,_ he'd just wanted _help_ was all, and this was why he _didn't,_ because it let people-

Was this it? All because of… Just… Just the…

"It was a _research assignment!"_ Ed burst out, breath darting in and out like the air was poison and he couldn't get enough, face flushing deep red. "A research assignment! Is this… is this why…" He shut his eyes, clenched his jaw, and, silently, screamed, anger and hurt and _this wasn't fair,_ it _wasn't,_ what was, what was-

Temper and misery mixed together and boiled over and Ed was burning, gone to flame faster than even he could process, burning a bright orange-tinted white, hot and harsh, flames angry under his clothes, flickering furiously in an unseen wind.

"Mustang asked me to research how mutant powers worked!" Ed spat out, fists clenched, gold eyes on a startled Xavier. "That was it! It was in code because I'm a _State Alchemist,_ and _all_ of my assignments are in code! _That was it!"_

Ed glared at Xavier, hurt and anger and too-bright gold eyes set in solid flame, and he whirled and flame flicked behind him and he rushed blindly out the door, unable to even look at the Professor anymore.

Out, Ed wanted out. Somewhere he wouldn't burn the world. Somewhere the world wouldn't burn him back. Somewhere, _somewhere…_

Xavier stared after him, eyes wide, back stiff, and suddenly, far too late, realized that, somewhere along the way, he'd done something very, very wrong.

And he was fairly certain that it had been in the very beginning.

Kitty was walking in the hall when a flame blew past her, and when she turned, startled, all she saw was a flicker of fire and a glimpse of a bright red coat, but that was enough to tell her who it was, and she frowned, worry creasing her forehead.

Bobby was under his tree when he saw a flash and looked up. _Fire._ He frowned, recognized the bright red coat, and remembered an awkward boy who asked him where the library was.

John flicked his light open, closed, open, and looked up sharply, finding a boy – Edward, for certain – shooting past him, bright with fire and quick with distress, toward the paved, covered play area, where no one was on a nice day like this. He flicked his lighter, open, closed, and then sighed, pocketed it, and pushed off the wall to head after him, scowling to himself.


	5. Chapter 5

John found Edward curled up against a wall, head buried in his arms, knees drawn up to form a tight ball. Flames licked black leather and the brick wall behind him, gradually cooling from blinding white to a light orange, and John's eyes followed it with a strange fixation.

John crossed the pavement to sit beside Edward, a few feet away, so the fire didn't burn him. Ed tensed visibly, but didn't look up, arms tightening.

For a long time, both of them sat there, and gradually, Ed's fire cooled to a more normal state, a beautiful, flickering ember-bright orange surrounded by glowing amber. He tilted his head, just revealing exhausted gold eyes, and spoke in a weary mutter.

"What do you want?"

John didn't look up, flicking his lighter instead. Open, closed. Open, closed. "I hate the military," he said finally.

Ed didn't even scowl; he just sighed and turned his head back into his arms, hunching over as if to protect himself from an onslaught.

"I don't want anything to do with them," John continued, still not looking. Open, closed. "Not in a million years." Finally, he looked up, eyes serious. The compulsive motion stopped. "But you're not very military, are you, Ed?"

Ed froze, flames flaring briefly in response to his emotions. Then, slowly, he sat back up, letting his arms fall and his legs loosen slightly. "No," he said slowly, wide gold eyes fixed on John, hesitation visible in their depths, untouched by the gradient of fire-orange. "I hate the military just as much as you do. If I'd had a choice, I never would have been a part of it in the first place."

John nodded and looked back down. He leaned back against the fall and flicked his lighter open, this time setting the flame alight. Then, without even a blink, he sent the fire soaring forward, turning the simple lighter into a violent flamethrower for the briefest of moments.

It died down a second later, and John shut the lighter.

"I've never seen another fire mutant before," John told Ed. "I like it."

Ed stared at him for a moment, and then, slowly, he smiled. Letting go of his legs entirely, he shifted to face John more. "Yeah? I like yours, too. How's it work?"

John shrugged and waved a hand, sending fire from Ed's hair flying off into the sky. "I don't know, I just do it. Comes naturally, I guess."

Ed looked at it with interest and shifted again, hands settling firmly on the ground. "A lot of the mutations here are really cool," he admitted. "But I haven't seen a lot of them. No one will talk to me."

John snorted. "Yeah, they're afraid of you."

"Yeah, I got that."

John sat there beside Ed and they talked for a long time, topic shifting gradually from mutant powers to fire to people, and so on. Ed became gradually more animated, smiling a little more, and John stopped looking at the ground and instead looked at Ed.

Finally, the flame making up Ed cooled and curled back into his flesh form, and he looked down, almost startled. Holding his hand out as if to inspect it, he curled and uncurled the fingers experimentally. John flicked the lighter shut, pocketed it, and stood up.

"Let's go," he said decisively.

Ed stared at him a moment, then smiled and hopped up. "Yeah."

People stared at both of them as they crossed the grounds back to the school. Ed ducked his head and scowled to himself resentfully, and John looked straight ahead, a fire unaffected by the wind.

Ed heard John snort derisively. "Oh, _now_ he shows up," John muttered, eying Scott's approaching form scornfully. "It figures that he shows up _after_ all the mess is all cleaned up."

Ed shot John a halfhearted scowl for the 'mess' comment, but then was distracted as Scott reached them. Despite his recent release of energy, Ed felt himself warm noticeably and eyed Scott warily.

Scott's expression was grim, but in a different way than before. He was standing up straight, gaze apparently on Ed, focused as the laser beams he shot.

"Fullm-" Ed sighed. Scott stopped. John flicked his lighter threateningly. "Edward."

Ed paused and glanced up.

"I'd like to apologize for my behavior." Ed started, gold eyes lifting to red shades. "It was inappropriate and prejudiced, which goes against the ideals of this school." Scott's gaze was steady, owning up to his mistake without hesitation. Ed stared at him with wide eyes. "It was wrong of me to judge you for something when I know nothing of the circumstances surrounding it."

Ed let out his breath in a soft puff. "No. No, that's alright. You've got a history, right?" He smiled dryly. "Don't worry, I'm used to it."

"You shouldn't be," Scott said with certainty. John snorted derisively. Scott added, expression serious, "The Professor called a staff meeting while you were…" He trailed off.

"Burning," Ed supplied, crossing his arms.

If Scott thought that was morbid, it didn't show. "Yes, burning. He told us about what your mission really was – research, right?" Ed nodded. "And he instructed us to treat you as we would any other student."

Ed looked up at him and smiled humorlessly. "Yeah, okay. Sure."

Scott specifically didn't wince. Instead, he said, "You should go to class. It's period four about now." He made as if to say something else, changed his mind, turned abruptly, and left.

John shrugged at Ed, pocketing his lighter again and rolling his eyes. "May as well," he muttered dubiously. Ed sighed and nodded.

They shared their period four, Ed recalled. They both had History, and it was about halfway through the period when they showed up.

Ed hesitated just outside the History Room door, eying it for a moment, but then he lifted his head, eyes flashing defiantly, and John smirked at him as Ed led the way in.

The history teacher glanced at them mid-lecture, paused when she saw who it was, and said crisply,

"Sit down and open your books. We're on page 427."

Not a word passed her lips about their lateness, even as late in the period as it was, not to mention the classes they'd skipped earlier.

John ignored his assigned seat (not that he ever acknowledged it regardless) and sat beside Ed, who sat down and opened his book, keeping his eyes trained on the text as a student read aloud.

The teacher seemed to be calling on students at random, fairly normal in this class. What wasn't normal?

"Edward, your turn to read."

Ed started, gold eyes flicking up, meeting the teacher's briefly. The teacher looked expectantly back, not betraying a hint of her thoughts, and a pleased smirk flashed across Ed's face before he looked back down and began to read, quick and clean.

"On the night of December 16-17, 1916, they tried to kill Rasputin. The plan was simple…"

The teacher had never asked him to read before.

Despite himself, Ed felt a tiny, hopeful spark. Maybe things _would_ be different.

* * *

Classes continued in that general vein – though some with more flickering glances than others – and dinnertime came. Ed got his dinner and sat at an empty table, and John plopped down beside him, louging casually.

"You don't have to do this, you know," Ed said to him, picking up his fork and stabbing a piece of chicken violently. "People are gonna be assholes about this."

John snorted and jabbed his own fork at him. "Yeah, well, just because most people are judgmental assholes doesn't mean _I_ have to be. Fuck, mutants ought to stick together, because nonmutants sure as hell won't stick with us."

Ed thought of Mustang and Havoc and Breda, Fuery and Falman and Trisha, and shrugged noncommitally.

John eyed him suspiciously, but then shrugged and looked down to his food, taking a bite. "Besides, fire, that's a different kind of mutation. I get it, okay?"

Ed stared at him a moment, then smiled, nodded, and went back to his dinner.

They hadn't been eating for more than a few minutes when another tray landed across from them. John rolled his eyes, gave a dramatic sigh, and glanced up. Ed looked up, too, gold eyes glinting curiously. He started.

Bobby had sat down across from them, blue eyes focused on his dinner, cheeks burning slightly. John raised an eyebrow at him.

"Oh, look, it's a Drake," he sneered. "How nice. Except it breathes ice."

"Is that what he does?" Ed mused, interested.

Bobby glanced up and scowled at John briefly, then shifted his gaze to Ed, sitting up. "Hi," he offered, apparently choosing to ignore John entirely. "You might not remember me, but I'm-"

"Bobby," Ed finished, nodding. "That kid I…" He waved vaguely. "Tried to talk to." He smiled, half wary and half friendly. "Hey."

"Hey," Bobby repeated, still looking uncomfortable. "Look, I'm-"

"It's fine," Ed cut him off, just as uncomfortable. "Forget it." Bobby looked unconvinced. Ed sighed. "Look-" He held out his hand. "Hi, I'm Ed. Nice to meet you."

Bobby smiled and grabbed it. "Hi. I'm Bobby."

"Great." Ed released it and went back to his food, rolling his eyes and smiling slightly. "So you control ice? What's that like?"

John flicked his lighter, smirking slightly. Bobby frowned at him, then answered Ed, "Uh, it's hard to explain. Like any mutant using their powers, I guess. It feels…" A slight smile appeared on his face, recalling the feeling, and he reached out and tapped Ed's glass. Ice spread from the point of contact, freezing the water through and frosting the glass. "Good. Natural, I guess. Why?"

Ed shrugged, grinning easily as he poked the ice experimentally. Frozen all through. "No reason."

"He has a research assignment," John threw out, almost in the same moment. "From the _military."_ He smirked when Ed frowned at him.

"Huh?" Bobby looked confused.

Ed sighed, scowled at John, and looked at Bobby, shrugging again. "It's nothing," he muttered, feeling rather attacked already. But in a good way. Like at the office, when Mustang teased him, or Breda. "I'm looking to find out how mutant powers work. Alchemically speaking, they shouldn't be possible." He considered. "None of them break the conservation of mass, so I pretty much just have to find out how they get around the conservation of Natural Providence… and you're not listening." He rolled his eyes at Bobby's bemused look. "It's not important."

"I'll take your word for it," Bobby muttered. "What about you, then? What do you do? I just saw fire."

"I catch fire," he offered, smile gone, expression thoughtful, almost pensive. "Or turn to it, I guess."

Bobby groaned dramatically. "There's two of you."

John laughed. "Deal with it, Iceboy."

"Shut it, Pyro."

"You two know each other already?" Ed asked with interest.

"Kind of," Bobby offered, glancing at John, expression wry. "We see each other around. Everyone here does. But we don't talk much."

John flicked his lighter again. "He puts out my fires," he offered dryly. "Doesn't like it much when I set things on fire." He smirked.

"I can't imagine why," Ed muttered, already warm in a way completely unrelated to his power. He laughed at John's affronted look and Bobby's triumphant one and added, "Then again, some things just need to catch fire." He laughed again when their looks switched.

After dinner, Bobby convinced both fire mutants to go out back and play a game, just the three of them, with others off doing other things. Bobby brought out a basketball and convinced the other two to play that, and it ended up being more fun than Ed had expected. The other two had had to teach him how to play, of course, but he picked it up quickly and soon was having more fun than he had in a while.

Maybe this place wasn't so bad after all. He grinned and ducked under Bobby's arm, shot at the basket, and missed.

"Nice try, salamander," Bobby snorted, grabbing the ball as it bounced back.

Ed stopped and stared at him. "Salamander?" he echoed, befuddled.

"Well, you can't be Pyro," Bobby said logically. "He's Pyro." He pointed at John, who smirked, eyes on Ed.

Ed stared at him a moment longer, and then rolled his eyes. "Whatever."

Yeah, he could stay here a while longer.

* * *

The three of them went to bed a while later, and Ed instantly grabbed the phone.

"If you do that again, it won't be _you_ setting you on fire," John threatened.

Ed rolled his eyes at him. "Relax. I'll talk out here, you go do your thing." He plopped onto his bed and dialled the number of the military dorm as John went into the bathroom.

 _"Brother?"_ came Al's voice almost instantly, chronically concerned, as he had been lately.

"Hey, Al," he greeted, leaning back against the wall.

 _"You sound cheerful,"_ Al noted, sounding surprised and pleased.

"Is it that obvious?" Ed chuckled wryly. "Yeah. Today was pretty hectic, but I made a few friends, so I guess it's alright."

Al laughed. _"Brother, you thrive in chaos."_

Ed grinned. "Well, there's nothing wrong with a little chaos."

 _"So what are they like?"_ Al asked with interest. _"They must be good for you, if you're this cheerful already."_

Ed sighed and smiled wryly. "You know me too well, Al. One of them is named John; he's a fire mutant, too…"

Al listened as Ed told him about his new friends and then, more reluctantly, what had happened that day, which earned him a few exclamations from an offended-on-his-behalf Al. When he finished, Al sighed, and he could almost hear the younger boy's smile.

_"I'm glad things are getting better for you, brother. You haven't sounded yourself lately."_

Ed sighed and shrugged, not having a real answer to that. "Yeah, well, it's over now." _I think,_ he added mentally. "I'll be fine, don't you worry, Al. What about you? Find any stray cats lately?"

_"Uh…"_

"Don't answer that, I probably don't want to know. But I'm not taking responsibility for them, Al!" He scowled playfully at the phone, more lighthearted than he had been in two weeks. "Was it a good day?"

_"Yes! I got Warrant Officer Falman to show me how to work the switchboard…"_

It was Ed's turn to listen, smiling faintly as Al recounted his day, and then relayed what progress he'd made on getting the civilian visa, which was very little, unfortunately.

John returned from the bathroom partway through the conversation and changed into his pajamas, cocking his eyebrows at Ed, who scowled playfully and ignored him.

It was some time before Ed hung up, but he was smiling, putting the phone back where it belonged.

"Who's that, anyway?" John asked abruptly, flicking the ever-present lighter. "You call them every damn night. Don't they get annoyed? I sure as hell would."

Ed rolled his eyes at John and grinned fondly. "Ha ha, John. That was Al. He's my little brother."

John paused. "Little brother, huh," he muttered quietly, looking at the ceiling.

Ed nodded and grabbed his maintenance kit and his pajamas, ducking into the bathroom. Quickly, he showered, dried off his automail, and set about doing his maintenance, thinking ruefully that Winry would kill him if she ever found out he'd left it this long.

He grabbed his oil – damn, almost out – and oiled his leg carefully, testing it out afterward. He smirked triumphantly. That was better – his movement had been going off a little. He really shouldn't leave it so long.

He redressed and exited the bathroom, found John already asleep, and fell into bed, falling asleep almost instantly.

* * *

John, Ed learned, did not much care for classes. Neither did Bobby. Nor did he himself, for that matter, but he had a reason; the course material was all way too easy.

Ed had the day off training, so when the science and math classes came around, he waved cheerfully at John and Bobby and headed off to the library, ignoring John's mutters about crazy bookworms.

He wasn't sure how long he spent in there – seeing as he had no more classes that day, he had no reason to keep track of time – but eventually, he looked up, blinking when he found a girl studying him with slightly regretful interest.

"Hi," he said slowly, confused.

"Hi," she said quietly, setting her books down across from him. She smiled hesitantly. "My name's Kitty."

Ed was still giving her a deeply confused look. "Hi, Kitty. My name's Ed."

"I know." Of course she knew. Ed sighed and gave her an expectant look. She smiled, somewhat embarrassed. "Right. Um." She fumbled for a moment. "So what brought you here?"

Ed set his book down, giving it up for now. It wasn't especially helpful anyway – mostly coping strategies that wouldn't generally work for him anyway. But you never knew what could come in handy. "I nearly set my CO's office on fire," he admitted bluntly.

Her eyes widened. "Wow! Did you get in trouble?"

He shook his head. "Nah. Don't tell anyone I said so, but Mustang can be okay sometimes." He rolled his eyes, thinking of the smirk on Mustang's face if he ever knew Ed had said that. "Hell of a lot better than some of the bastards there, anyway." General Yu, for instance. Or Brigadier General Grand.

"Oh," she said in a small voice. Change the subject, change the subject!

"What about you?" he asked abruptly, uncomfortable with her expression. "How did you get here?"

She brightened almost instantly, smiling sheepishly. "Oh, well…"

He listened as she told her story, which somehow led them into talking about family, and Ed was just telling her about Al when she let out a small 'oh'.

"I'm keeping you from your books, aren't I?" Kitty smiled, slightly sheepish. "Go ahead and read. I'll just study or something." She sighed at the thought.

He shrugged and watched her bend down to get her homework, setting it on the table to start, and then reached for his book, reading again.

To his surprise, she really did stay, doing her work quietly across from him as his eyes scanned the pages, absorbing the information contained within them, mind like a fire searching out fuel, only this fuel never ran out.

But none of it was what he was looking for.

* * *

"Ed."

Ed's eyes flickered across the page. _There are two known categories of mutant awakenings. One of these awakens gradually as puberty sets in and grow more powerful as they age._

"Ed?"

_The other awakens in a crisis, a threatening or stressful situation, and instantly grow into their full power. Both these types of mutants have very little control if left untrained._

"Ed!"

_Unfortunately, very little is known about how mutant powers are able to manifest…_

_"Edward!"_

Ed started and looked up inquisitively, frowning. "Huh?"

Kitty gave him an exasperated look. "It's dinnertime."

"Huh?" Ed repeated, looking at the clock. "Oh."

"Yeah, oh," Kitty replied, giggling slightly. "Come on."

Ed frowned, but then sighed and closed the book. It wasn't helpful anyway. None of them were. He put away the books quickly and then grabbed his notebook, following Kitty out the door and into the hall.

Kitty was quiet, almost nervous-looking, glancing at him every few moments. Ed tried not to notice, but finally he told her,

"I'm not gonna do anything, you know."

She started and smiled bashfully. "Oh, no, I know that. You seem nice now that I've talked to you. I just wanted to say I'm sorry, okay?"

Ed glanced at her and smiled a little. "It's fine," he assured her.

They reached the cafeteria and got their food, and Ed sat down at an empty table again. Soon enough, John appeared, too, and then Bobby.

"Kitty?" Bobby said, surprised. "What're you doing here?"

Kitty shrugged. "Same thing as you, I guess." She smiled and looked down, taking a bite of her food. "Ed's nice. I don't know why I didn't talk to him sooner."

They talked for a while, and Ed was smiling and laughing, fire a warm presence in his belly instead of threatening to spill from his skin, gold eyes bright and intent.

"I don't get _why_ you don't have to go to the damned science and math classes," John complained after a while. "They're _stupid."_

"I tested out," Ed explained casually, taking a last bite and pushing the empty tray aside. "I need some pretty advanced science and math stuff for my alchemy, so I learned it a long time ago."

Suddenly, they were quiet, and Ed cringed slightly. They'd managed to forget entirely his origins for a while, but when he said that- Then Kitty offered, "Can you show us some?" Eyes flickering quickly over the other two, then back to Ed. "Some alchemy, I mean."

Ed gave her a hesitant look, then pulled the tray back over to him, took everything off it and set it aside, and pressed his hands together softly. Then, placing them to the tray, he focused, second nature to him now, and blue sparks poured from his fingertips like a magic fountain, breaking the tray down and building it back up into a model of Professor Xavier's wheelchair.

Kitty gasped softly, and Bobby muttered, "Wow." John didn't look like he disagreed.

"Looks almost like a mutant power," John said offhandedly.

"Yeah, it does, doesn't it?" Ed mused. "But it's not. I learned how to do this. Anyone can." He clapped his hands again, splitting it into pieces, and then again, putting it back together in its original shape.

"Pretty cool," Bobby told him. Ed grinned, more confident now.

"Yeah. I could reduce it back to its original oil, too-" -The array was right there in his mind's eye- "-but that's probably a bad idea."

"What, just 'cause there'd be oil everywhere?" Bobby asked, amused. Ed rolled his eyes at him.

"Yes, that."

"And that's useful to the military?" Kitty asked softly, eyes on her own half-finished tray.

They went quiet again. This time, it was a few minutes before any of them spoke.

"Yeah," Ed said softly. "There are military applications. The State Alchemist division is almost completely devoted just to that. My commanding officer, Colonel Mustang-" He glanced at Kitty. "I mentioned him to you earlier, right? He can snap his fingers and burn a hundred people at once. More if they're all crowded together." He managed a smirk. "He's useless in the rain, though."

The silence was killing him, pressing on his ears. Then John smirked.

"Sounds like my kind of guy," he said, flicking his lighter. "How's he do it?"

"His gloves are made of something called ignition cloth," Ed explained. "He snaps and makes a spark, and then he uses the circle on his glove to change the elements of the air to direct the fire's path, heat, and size." He shrugged. "I don't know much more than that." A lie; he could see it, all of it, every nook and cranny and loophole, in the truth inside his mind. "Flame alchemy is pretty rare."

"They got guys like that and they let you in?" Bobby asked quietly.

The silence was back.

"Yeah," Ed muttered, focused on the table, fingers and foot tapping restlessly. "Mustang found me after a bad accident, alchemy rebound. It takes some damn high level alchemy to get a rebound that bad, you know? So he pulled some strings, let me take the test – you need to take a test to get into the State Alchemist division, and only one or two people pass a year – and I passed it." He shrugged. "Year later, here I am." He rolled his eyes at himself. "Guess that's what he gets for recruiting someone young enough to have not grown into their mutant power, huh?" He smirked.

"Why?" Kitty asked, oblivious to Ed's attempt to lighten the mood.

Ed hesitated. "Why did I join?"

"Well, yeah," John said bluntly, flicking his lighter again, eyes on Ed. "You said yourself that you hated it. The fuck possessed you to join?"

"…I needed to help my brother." He glanced at them. "The rebound that got me, it got him, too, but worse. I need to fix it."

"What happened?" Kitty asked, concerned.

Ed bristled slightly. "None of your business," he hissed, trying not to snap. "I just need to fix it, trust me. It was my fault anyway." All of it.

From then on, Kitty almost always did her work with Ed in the library, and it was a week before she finally asked what he was looking for.

Ed shrugged. "I've got a research assignment," he said. "I want to find out how mutant powers work, alchemically speaking." She was still looking at him. "What?"

"Is that all?" she asked dubiously.

He gave her a slightly surprised look. "Well, no. I'm looking for my own things, too." His expression softened, growing pensive. "It's that thing I mentioned… helping Al." He glanced at her. "My brother. His name's Al. I'm looking for the Philosopher's Stone, but there's nothing about it here." He glared at the book. "Well, not that I can find. Doesn't mean I'll stop looking."

"The Philosopher's Stone," she echoed, a little wonder in her voice.

His voice lowered, angry at himself, glaring at the table. "Yeah." Self-recrimination in his tone.

* * *

"No, no, you don't get it, it's not some mental block, they literally _can't burn."_

Ed was giving Storm a frustrated look, and finally, she raised her hands in surrender. "Fine. We'll work on that later. Let's go back to the beginning. How does it feel when you set yourself on fire?"

He sighed frustratedly, shuffling restlessly from foot to foot. Very little had changed with Storm, really, since he'd caught fire in Professor Xavier's office, only now she didn't give him the looks or sudden pauses she used to. "It feels almost like I'm releasing energy, okay? Like there's a lot of pent-up energy and I need to let it out, and I do, and it's kind of a relief. Depending on what I'm doing, it can be a rush, too. Like alchemy."

'Like alchemy', he knew, was just about useless to Storm, but he couldn't help it. It was the only thing he could compare it to. Maybe it was just the way his mind worked.

Storm sighed, amused and exasperated. "Alright, you win this round, Ed," she said, even though he wasn't trying to. "I'll set up some equipment and we'll have you change in front of it a few times…"

They went through some tests, only a few of which they hadn't done some semblance of before, and that lasted a few hours before Storm released Ed. Just as he was leaving though, she asked,

"Ed, what do you know about why your limbs won't burn?"

He gave her a look filled with deep-set frustration, anger directed only at himself. "I know _exactly_ what's wrong with them," he said tightly, and he turned and left before she said another word."

* * *

"Hey, Ed?"

"Hey, Kitty," Ed replied absently, looking up. "Dinnertime already?" Kitty had taken it upon herself to alert Ed when it was time to go, after seeing that he obviously wasn't going to do it himself (which exasperated her to no end).

"No, no," she said, shaking her head. "I just wondered…" She bit her lip. He gave her an expectant look, setting his book down.

"Kitty?"

"Can you teach me alchemy?" she blurted out.

He started. For a long time, he didn't say anything, even as she looked at him hopefully.

Teach her alchemy? Him? He had no business teaching anyone alchemy, not after what he did with it. Not after what he saw. And he was _thirteen,_ that was too young to be teaching anybody anything, let alone something as complicated and dangerous as alchemy.

He gave her an uncertain look.

"Please?" she pleaded. "It's not like I can learn from someone else, and I really want to learn, Ed."

Could he put himself in Teacher's shoes, teach someone how alchemy worked? It wasn't just any ordinary science, or even just a way of life. Alchemy was a line of thought, its own way of thinking, way of looking at the world and making it your own.

"I'm not sure I know how," he muttered dubiously, biting his lip.

"Can you try?"

"…Yeah."


	6. Chapter 6

"From the top," Ed told her, gold eyes sharp and intent on Kitty.

Kitty bit her lip, concentrating. "Ah, hydrogen…" Then , under her breath, "Hydrogen before HeLium…" Her eyes brightened slightly. "Helium, lithium. Ym… beryllium be boron… So beryllium and boron. And next, um…" She faltered.

Ed waited a minute before prompting, "Carbon."

She perked up. "Right! Beware CarboN. Carbon and then nitrogen."

Ed frowned, giving her a deeply confused look, head tilted slightly. "What's with that, anyway?"

"With what?" she asked, momentarily distracted.

"Those things you keep saying. Hydrogen before helium, beryllium be boron, beware carbon." He scratched the back of his head, shrugging. "I don't know, they just don't make a lot of sense."

"Oh." She smiled sheepishly. "They're nothing, really. Just little things to help me remember."

"To help you remember, huh?" he mused thoughtfully, moving his hand from the back of his head to rest his head on it.

Ed hadn't thought about that. He and Al had done something similar, he recalled, when they were first learning the Periodic Table – talking and joking about the elements as they memorized it. They hadn't even thought about it, but that had probably helped them remember, attaching memories like that.

They'd long since dropped the tricks, of course; Ed could, and did, recite the table in his sleep. But it hadn't always been that way.

He called up a memory, faint as a phantom lamp, and smiled. "Alright, I can work with that." He pointed at the table he was using as a visual aid. "Nitrogen and oxygen make laughing gas, and no one wants that." He glanced at her expectantly and was not disappointed; she laughed, realized what just happened, and laughed harder. He grinned at her.

Three days later found Kitty with the entire table memorized, with only the exception of those elements that had ridiculously short half-lives, which Ed assured her she wouldn't need unless she was setting up a chain reaction with some 'damned complicated alchemy'. Her relief had been akin to that of a freezing wanderer finding shelter (and Ed would know).

Still, she was slow to recall, and Ed wanted her to know it off the top of her head before he started in on real alchemy.

Kitty was quickly gaining confidence, though, uncertainty all but gone as Ed proved to her again and again that yes, she really did have the entire table memorized, something she had been sure, in the beginning, that she wouldn't be able to do.

For once, even Kitty had been too absorbed in their work to notice the passage of time, and it was Ed who noticed that it was long past the time by which he usually went, with dinner more than half over.

He stared at the clock for a moment, contemplating what to do, and then finally said, "Well. Damn."

Kitty started, pulled out of her focus, and followed his gaze to the clock. Her eyes widened.

"Oh," was all she said.

Then she jumped up and scrambled to gather up the books and put them away. Ed ignored her, shrugging and stretching lightly, automail creaking lightly in his ear as his joints resisted the motion.

He'd run out of oil annoyingly quickly, and had now been without for a few days. He wouldn't have minded, but damn, the _squeaking._

He stood up and grabbed the last book, putting it away just as Kitty returned.

He looked at Kitty, smirked at her alarm, and prompted, "Atomic mass of oxygen."

She paused, frowned, and then smiled and said, "Fifteen point nine nine nine four."

He grinned, nodded, and moved right along toward the cafeteria, prompting her for masses, electronegativities, and atomic numbers at random.

When she got around to alchemy, she wasn't going to make a single mistake, Ed would make sure of it.

He kept quizzing her through getting their dinners and didn't even notice that there were people already present at their always-empty table. Kitty, one step behind, wasn't quite as oblivious – but almost.

Ed started as a flurry of motion signaled the other, previously unnoticed occupants of the table getting up and leaving. He stared after them, slightly startled, gold eyes wide and mouth open.

"Hey, free table."

A tray dropped beside Ed, making him jump, and a heavy body followed moments later. He looked over to find John smirked in amusement, tracking the retreating forms with a hot starlight gleam in his eyes.

"Assholes," Bobby muttered, sitting across from John and rolling his eyes.

"Ed?" prompted Kitty, glancing at them herself, then back to Ed expectantly with an intent smile.

Ed blinked, looking back at her. "Right…" He shook his head focusing. "Uh, electronegativity of krypton."

She bit her lip, then said confidently, "Three."

He smiled and nodded, opening his mouth to continue on, but was interrupted as Bobby cut across him, making him look over with a light scowl.

"What the _hell_ are you doing that for?"

Kitty smiled, slightly embarrassed, and Ed shrugged, fingers tapping the table.

"Kitty asked me to teach her alchemy," he explained, smiling, bright and matter-of-fact like the evening light. "Step one's making sure she knows her chemistry."

Bobby frowned thoughtfully, calling to mind the casual ease and blue light Ed had used to make figures out of the table, and asked suddenly, "Can you teach me, too?"

Ed looked startled. "Uh, sure." He smiled a little. "Yeah."

"I want in," John announced, remembering some of the stories Ed had told them, few and far between but surprisingly interesting and often pretty hard to believe, even for them. "Like hell you're learning alchemy without me." He flicked his lighter, wondering if he could convince Ed to teach him the flame alchemy he'd mentioned his commanding officer using.

Ed's smile widened. "Alright."

* * *

Ed looked up at the clock on impulse, and his eyes widened. "Shit."

John, glaring at his copy of the Table, glanced up at him, still scowling. "What?" he demanded, annoyed.

They'd moved to the library not long after Bobby and John had asked to be included, Ed citing the need for the books he'd been using with Kitty (which he'd pulled off at random and discarded or used at will). Ed had declared Kitty done memorizing the table and set her to learning molecules instead, drawing diagrams from memory and labelling them with careful precision.

She was doing that now, muttering to herself, brow furrowed, fingers tracing the structures lightly. She'd been disappointed that she couldn't learn real alchemy yet, but she'd been satisfied when he promised to start telling her about basic alchemy principles next week.

Meanwhile, Bobby had taken to the Table surprisingly well, but John was getting frustrated. Halfway through, he'd demanded to know why they had to know this. Ed had scowled at him, and then sketched out a part of the basic information for the premise of flame alchemy.

John had been very interested. Ed didn't know why he was surprised. Since then, he'd been more intent, but no less irritable.

"It's getting late," Ed explained, hastily moving to gather up the books that had been cast aside once they were finished with them. "I'm gonna be late calling Al, _shit…"_

"Huh? But you don't call him 'til…" John looked up at the clock. "Shit."

"Yeah," Ed agreed as Bobby and Kitty, too, looked up and jolted into motion. "C'mon, let's get this stuff put away…"

Between them, the four of them managed to put all the books back in less than a minute, and then they were parting ways, Kitty with the diagrams tucked under her arm.

The moment they were back, Ed made a beeline for the phone, and Al picked up almost instantly.

 _"Brother?"_ Al asked, sounding relieved. Ed felt guilty instantly.

"Yeah, Al. Sorry for making you worry, I just got caught up… you remember I'm teaching Kitty alchemy?"

 _"Yeah,"_ Al affirmed, sounding pleased as he always did when the subject was brought up. Ed couldn't fathom why. _"Was that what you were doing?"_

"Kinda." Ed grinned a little and leaned back, relaxing now. John rolled his eyes at him and went ahead and changed. "You remember Bobby and John, right?" He didn't wait for an answer. "They asked to learn, too, so I'm helping them out now."

 _"That's great, brother,"_ Al said, even more pleased. _"Are you enjoying it?"_

Ed considered. _Was_ he? He'd initially agreed to teach Kitty because she'd really wanted to learn, and she was one of the few friends he had in this place… but…

Ed knew his stuff. He knew it really well, could call up an array in the blink of an eye and the math in half that time, but explaining it had never been his thing – even Mustang sometimes got left behind. Doing it this way, from the ground up, it straightened things out for him, too, changing talent and gut instinct into something a lot more ordered.

And he kind of liked it.

It wasn't just that, though; Kitty was smart, he'd seen that from the beginning. Not alchemist-smart, not the way he or Al or Mustang or Armstrong were. But not stupid, like she seemed to think. And he'd liked leading her to that realization, helping her get just the table of elements memorized.

He'd seen what people could do, put under pressure, whether by force or by persuasion – things far beyond what they ever thought they were capable of. It was one of the many things he'd looked at, things he'd seen and marvelled at, wondering how he and Al had ever, _ever,_ thought that they could create something so amazing.

"Yeah," Ed said thoughtfully, surprised at himself. "I do, actually."

Huh.

* * *

A week later, Ed took back every nice thought he'd had about teaching. All three of his friends were getting restless and impatient, and it was getting harder to keep them focused on the simple molecular structures and mathematical equations that they needed to know before he gave them so much as a hint toward transmutation circles. The demonstrations he gave more and more often, reminders of what they were working toward, were starting to be little better than buckets of water on a housefire.

Some of Ed's irritation, he admitted to himself, was nothing to do with them at all. He still hadn't gotten a chance to get his hands on any oil, and now it was starting to affect his movement, with small joints catching briefly and large ones grinding painfully every so often. He thought Bobby, at least, had noticed, too; he kept giving him odd looks.

With all three of them now on the same level, Ed spent his time switching between them, explaining harder concepts or adding something as needed. They were almost done; just a little farther…

"Are you _sure_ we need to know this?" Bobby asked for the umpteenth time, rubbing his forehead as he glanced up from the paper Ed had given him.

Ed resisted the urge to imitate the movement and nodded, leaning forward, right arm laid across the table, to point with his left. "Yeah. See this equation? Applied to the right circle, it can freeze the ground solid." Which was why he'd given it to Bobby; in reality, he'd been pouring every random equation that popped into his mind into the sheets, but apparently he'd subconsciously tuned them to his friends' strengths.

Which was for the best, really. Bobby's eyes sharpened with reluctant interest and he nodded, going back to work.

Which was more than he could say for John. Ed sighed and made to straighten up, only to freeze as he realized that his elbow had barely twitched, locked into place.

As casually as he could, Ed sat back down, shoulder grinding slightly as it moved, elbow staying locked at a right angle as he let it sit comfortably in front of him. He leaned to the left and looked at John's sheet. Oh, he was done, smirking triumphantly like he'd won a great battle. Ed smiled.

"Great. That's about it, then, John." He glanced up at Kitty, who was fidgeting impatiently. "I know it's hard to wait, alright?" He grinned a little. "You should've seen Al every time he got a concept before I did. You'd think he'd swallowed half a pound of sugar."

Kitty laughed a little and relaxed, looking back down to her finished work.

That had been the hardest part, getting them to do the math sheets. John had complained loudly that they did enough of that in math class, but Ed had insisted, and then done the same sheets himself, right alongside them, making two copies of each paper just for that. It hadn't settled them, but it had gotten them to do it, which was enough for an exasperated Ed.

Ed wriggled his elbow discreetly and felt his elbow loosen up, relaxing as he withdrew it quickly, tucking it under the table as if to hide its dysfunction.

Which he wasn't. Obviously.

Soon enough, Bobby was finished, too, and the three of them stood up to go to lunch, with Ed promising to start explaining the principles of alchemy as soon as they returned (and internally thanking God it was a weekend).

It didn't quite happen that way, though; on the way back to the library, Ed's left leg jerked to an abrupt halt as the knee locked into place, as he yelped as he was sent tumbling forward.

His three friends stopped almost instantly, John giving him an odd frown and Kitty letting out a soft yelp of her own. Bobby made a false start forward, frowning, too.

Ed scowled up at them from the ground, hard, and reached back to knock at his knee harshly, loosening it back up. "I'm fine," he snapped irritably, pushing himself back up, gritting his teeth against the harsh grind of his knee. This was instantly countered as the knee froze again, together with his shoulder, and he snarled silently and hit them both, climbing up at last and stumbling slightly.

Bobby gave him a flat look, thoroughly distracted now. "Yeah, okay." He grabbed Ed by the elbow (the left one, thankfully) and pulled him forward. "Alchemy can wait-" Maybe not so distracted, then. "-you're going to see Hank."

"Dammit." Ed pulled out of Bobby's grip, scowling at him defensively. "I told you, I'm fine!"

"If by 'fine' you mean 'falling all over the place'," John said unhelpfully, smirking when Ed glared at him.

"If you don't go to Hank, I'll take Hank to you," Bobby threatened, arms crossed.

Ed scowled at him, one fist clenching and unclenching convulsively, shifting from foot to foot. "He won't be able to do a thing," he snapped, left hand going to rub his automail elbow.

"We'll see about that," Bobby snorted, disbelieving. "C'mon, it's not like he's going to hurt you."

Ed held his glare a moment longer, but finally bit out a, "Fine."

Bobby smirked triumphantly and Ed valiantly ignored John laughing at him as Bobby led him down the halls, presumably to the infirmary. Or something.

Ed hated his life.

* * *

Hank, as it turned out, was blue. Very, very blue. And also furry. And strangely sophisticated for all that.

Ed was startled out of his anger and simply stared at him, blinking in surprise. Hank smiled a vaguely dangerous-looking smile and held out his hand.

"Dr. Hank McCoy," he introduced formally. Ed reached out and shook it without thinking, withdrawing his hand quickly when Hank glanced down with a frown and a furrowed brow. "I've been intending to speak to you for some time, Edward, though I didn't expect it to be under such circumstances. What seems to be the problem?"

Ed wasn't particularly inclined to speak, so Bobby provided, giving Ed an exasperated look, "He fell down earlier and had a lot of trouble getting up," he explained to Hank. "And I think he's been having trouble moving for a while now."

"I'm fine," was all Ed said, weak and sulky even to his own ears.

Glancing up, he found Hank's face void of the look that usually decorated doctors' faces when they realized that he was one of _'those patients',_ replaced instead with a weary smile. "Well, we'll see," Hank said crisply. "Sit down on the table, please. I assure you, if you really are fine, this will only take a moment."

Grudgingly, Ed sat down on the checkup table, grumbling to himself. Hank smiled in slight amusement and John, Bobby, and Kitty all sat down in various chairs, Bobby giving him a suspicious look.

"May I see your leg?" Hank requested politely, bending down to look a little closer.

Ed scowled at him and pulled his leg up to himself, one arm protectively around it. "No."

Hank sighed. "Please, Edward, this will go far more pleasantly if I am allowed to examine you. If something is ailing you or causing you pain, I would very much like to be permitted to fix it."

"You _can't_ fix it," Ed snapped, growling slightly.

Hank's gaze flickered upward and Ed belatedly realized that he had as good as admitted that something was wrong, but thankfully, Hank didn't comment, simply looking back down.

"Are we gonna be here all day?" John called out lazily, flicking his lighter.

"No one's _forcing_ you to be here," Bobby sniped back, frowning at him. Kitty sighed.

"Don't fight," she insisted halfheartedly, eyes worried and on Ed.

"I'm not your enemy, Edward," Hank said patiently, giving Ed a kind smile. Ed started. "It's okay to seek help when you need it."

Ed stared at him for a long moment, head tilted slightly, gold eyes on Hank. Then Hank smiled as Ed reached down and started to roll up his black leather pant leg.

Within moments, the steel gleam of his automail became visible, and Hank's smile disappeared like candlelight in harsh wind. Kitty gasped, John hissed, and Bobby's eyes widened. Ed didn't look up, rolling up his pant leg with unnecessary focus.

Finally, he reached the point where the automail ended and left the surgery scars covered, numbly recalling that his friends were still here. He'd have asked them to leave, if he'd thought they would, but he'd known them two weeks and he already knew that there was no chance of that. And considering he slept in the same room as one of them, maybe it was for the best.

He let his hands fall back to the table but still didn't look up, gold eyes hovering on his automail knee.

"It's called automail," he offered to the silence. "A high-tech prosthetic limb." He looked up with a weak smile, failing thoroughly to hide his discomfort. "I ran out of oil, is all. The joints are starting to lock up – that's what happened earlier. My knee caught and it took a moment to get it moving again."

Another moment of silence passed, and Ed nearly squirmed, fever heat warming his skin slightly as they stared at him.

Then Hank broke it, yellow eyes blinking and focusing back down. "May I examine it?" he asked.

"Alright," Ed said quietly, not looking at his friends even as the sound of John's flicking lighter filled the room, fast and aggravated. Then, figuring it would be best to get it over with, he pulled his right glove off his hand, shed his red coat, and then reached up to pull his jacket off, revealing the automail arm as well. John hissed again and Bobby bit out something Ed couldn't quite make out, but was pretty sure was a vicious curse.

Hank didn't visibly react, though Ed thought his eyes dimmed slightly, and instead picked up the automail hand and manipulated the joints, brow furrowed. Ed took the chance to glance up at his friends.

John was scowling darkly, flicking his lighter viciously, and Kitty was frozen, eyes wide. Bobby didn't look much better than John, fists clenched and knuckles white. As Ed met each of their eyes, absently moving his own joints as Hank quietly requested, Kitty gave him a fearful, worried look, Bobby clenched his jaw, and John bit off a curse, pushing off to pace angrily.

Ed looked back to Hank, eyes caught somewhere between bitter and unhappy, and Hank asked him, "How long have you had these?"

"Two years," Ed said stiffly. Hank frowned.

"Two years since you've finished your rehabilitation?" he clarified.

"No," Ed answered, resisting the urge to snap. "Two years since I got them. I finished my rehab in a year."

Hank 'hm'ed and moved from his arm to his leg. Ed removed his boot without being asked, and Hank repeated the procedure from the foot up.

"Well," he said finally, straightening up. "I'm afraid I've never seen automail myself before, but for what little I know, it seems to be quite well crafted. Aside from the maintenance deficiency, it appears to be working fine."

Ed nodded, looking at him expectantly. Hank smiled, half apologetic.

"Sadly, we do not keep automail oil on the premises, but I'll speak to the Professor. Will machine oil do in the meantime?"

Ed wrinkled his nose, but nodded. "Machine oil's fine." The differences between machine and automail oil were small, but Ed knew from experience that they made a big difference. For instance, automail oil stank less, not to mention, was less likely to rub off on clothes. Good thing he liked black.

Hank smiled again and glanced at his friends. "Then I will go see about acquiring some for you."

He was gone before Ed had time to react.

No sooner had Hank left than John demanded, voice low and rough, "What the fuck happened?"

Ed winced and looked down, flexing automail fingers and watching as they moved jerkily, catching and releasing. He considered, for a long moment, not answering, but he looked back up at John's face, and Bobby's, and Kitty's, varying degrees of worried and angry and scared, and he answered, "I lost the leg doing something stupid… really damn stupid. Then I lost the arm fixing it."

"Does it hurt?" Kitty asked, worry not alleviated in the least, going over to pick up his hand the way Hank had. Ed let her and grinned.

"'Course not," he lied. John eyed him skeptically. His grin held.

"What kinda stupid thing?" John pushed, flicking his lighter open menacingly. Ed nearly rolled his eyes, but then recalled the question and sighed.

"…Alchemy rebound," he said finally. John's eyes widened and the lighter snapped shut, and Ed added hastily, "It's not common, I was working with pretty damn powerful alchemy. Worst thing the stuff you'll probably ever learn could do is knock you out for a bit, and even that, I'd probably recognize the mistake before you activated the circle. Hell, _you'd_ probably recognize the mistake."

Bobby, shoulders suddenly tense, eyed him. Ed grinned weakly. Then he looked back down, kicking his left leg slightly, and said abruptly,

"Say. I promised to teach you some basic alchemy principles about now, right?"

Bobby gave him an incredulous look, and John couldn't quite hide his snort, the non-sequitar blowing the tension from the room like the wind blows smoke. "Seriously?"

"Yeah." Ed looked at them and grinned, pulling his hand from Kitty's. Kitty looked up at him, interested despite herself, eyes wide. "C'mon, sit down. This might take a bit."

They didn't quite sit down – well, Kitty and Bobby did, but John leaned against the wall and raised an eyebrow at him. Ed ignored him valiantly.

"The first thing my teacher ever taught me about alchemy," Ed told them, leaning back slightly to gaze at the ceiling, eyes contemplative and glazed with memory, "was All is One and One is All."

John snorted. Ed smirked wryly. Yeah, okay, so he'd had very nearly the same reaction the first time he heard it.

"All is One and One is All. This concept is represented in every transmutation in the form of a circle." He looked back down to them, still half-smiling in memory. "Teacher made me and my brother figure out the concept ourselves – threw us onto an abandoned island with nothing but a knife. That's not the only way to learn it, but it's probably the best."

Kitty's eyes had widened at his recollection, and Bobby had winced in sympathy. John just looked thoughtful. Ed shrugged.

"'Course, we can't really do that. But here's what it really boils down to: When you die, what will happen?"

John frowned, Bobby's brow furrowed in thought, and Kitty winced slightly. She was the first to answer, voice slow and hesitant.

"Well, I suppose my parents would be sad. My friends, too."

Ed shook his head. "No, that's not what I mean. Think about the world as a whole. What will happen?"

Another few moments of silence passed, Ed's objective achieved as each of his friends was wholly absorbed in the riddle. Finally, John spoke, frowning at the ground, hand stilled around his lighter.

"Your body goes into the ground and rots."

Bobby's eyes widened slightly as he made the connection. "And then plants use the nutrients to grow," he said, dawning realization in his voice. Kitty started, and a slow smile spread across her face, eyes brightening.

"And then animals eat the plants as food," she picked up enthusiastically.

"And people or other animals eat the animals," Ed agreed, smiling, eyes bright with his own memory of the realization. Deliberately keeping away the memory of the second, slap-in-the-face reminder. "One is All, and All is One. Energy cannot be created or destroyed, it only flows in an eternal pattern, spread throughout everything. Every array represents this concept in the form of a circle."

"Damn," John muttered, a hint of grudging wonder in his voice.

Ed grinned and nodded. "Yeah. The second thing, just as important, is the rule of Equivalent Exchange." His left hand moved to the top of his leg, and Kitty tracked it, glancing up at his face as he completed the movement. His eyes were serious now, the light of enthusiasm gone. "This rule has two parts: the Conservation of Mass and the Conservation of Natural Providence…"

The seriousness in his voice, Ed figured, was what kept them listening.

But really, it was the implications of his hand on his leg.

They really were smarter than they gave themselves credit for.

* * *

Five weeks after Ed's arrival to the Institute, he was hurrying back to his room for the eighth time in two weeks.

His joints were moving smoothly again; the machine oil was doing fine as a substitute, and Hank had promised that they should have the automail oil within a week. Meanwhile, John was getting used to Ed no longer hiding the automail from him, and Ed's maintenance kit sat out in the open now.

He headed straight for the phone, ignoring John's amused smirk and traditional eyeroll as he plopped down on the bed, calling Al.

 _"Brother,"_ Al greeted warmly.

"Hey, Al. Sorry I'm late." Ed smiled guiltily. "I got-"

 _"Caught up,"_ Al finished, voice thankfully amused rather than tired or, worse, accusing. _"I understand, brother. How are things going?"_

Ed brightened. "You won't believe this, Al. So I've been teaching my friends for a few weeks now, right?"

 _"Yeah?"_ Al sounded interested. Of course he did.

"And I've been doing it in the library. I mentioned that people've been watching sometimes, right? It's weird."

 _"No,"_ Al said, amused again. _"But you have now. Go on, brother. What about it?"_

Ed grinned, half amazed and half amused himself. "So a few of them come up to me today and ask if I can teach them, too."

 _"Really?"_ Al sounded delighted.

"Yeah!" Ed enthused, pleased himself. "Apparently they're really into chemistry and were interested in alchemy long before I got here." He laughed, a wry smile crossing his face. "Guess they weren't going to let any silly old fear get in the way of learning."

 _"Sounds like you, brother,"_ Al said, amused. Ed chuckled and kept talking, telling Al about how he'd gotten them started and knew a lot more about how to go about it this time – he'd easily admit to himself that he'd been pretty clumsy about it the first time around. Was this how Teacher had felt, teaching alchemy to him and Al?

They'd been talking for a few hours, Ed just mentioning that they were often in the library pretty late, when Al said suddenly,

_"You know, brother, you don't have to call me every night."_

Ed stopped. "H-huh?"

Al's voice held a gentle smile even through the phone, even when Ed knew he couldn't possibly hold the expression. _"You don't have to call me every night,"_ he repeated. _"I'll be alright, brother. I understand if you want to be with your friends, okay?"_

Ed bristled, irrationally angry at a nonexistent foe. "No one comes above you, little brother," he said fiercely.

 _"I know, Ed,"_ Al said soothingly. _"But you have friends there. They're good for you, brother. And I'm coming there soon anyway; I can't wait to meet them. But I don't want to hear that there were things you couldn't do with them because you had to come call me."_

Ed faltered. "Al-"

 _"I'll be fine,"_ Al repeated.

Ed hesitated. "…Okay, Al," he said finally. "I get it." He smiled wryly. "I'll still call you as often as I can, though."

 _"I wouldn't expect anything less, brother."_ Al's voice was campfire warm, and Ed smiled.

* * *

Storm was frustrated. Five weeks they'd been working now, and they'd stopped making progress after two. Which meant three weeks of getting nothing done.

Just recently, though, Professor Xavier had suggested something to her, and Storm somewhat doubted that it was unrelated to the recent revelation of Ed's automail limbs. She called that to mind and sighed.

"Edward. How is it, exactly, that you control yourself?"

Ed, standing across from her, shifting impatiently from foot to foot, expression just a little worn out from their training session thus far, shrugged. "I kind of, I dunno, squash it, I guess. Just shove it down. A bit like the way I extinguish myself."

…Damn.

Storm sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose. Ed frowned at her. "What?"

"No, don't do that," she sighed, frustrated at herself. Of course. That should have been the first place she looked, but with how temperamental Ed was by habit, she'd dismissed the possibility out of hand. She needed to stop making assumptions with this kid. "Suppressing your power is exactly what you _don't_ do, Edward."

He frowned at her. "But I'm supposed to be learning to control it, aren't I?" he said logically.

"Yes, control it," she agreed. "That's different." She removed her hand from the bridge of her nose and looked at him, hand landing on her hip, eyes intent. "Flame."

Frowning, but trusting her, he took a deep breath and fire flared across his face again. Not for the first time, she noted the slight smile that took over his face, and her gaze sharpened slightly. "Harder."

He opened gold eyes set in amber flames and looked at her quizzically, but obeyed; the fire expanded slightly above his skin, fire flickering faster from his clothes and hair.

"Harder." Her tone didn't change. He frowned, but the fire brightened, expanding and extending.

"Hotter." He bit his lip and closed his eyes, shifting slightly in concentration, and the color of his flame changed, lightening gradually. He opened his eyes again and looked at her.

"Hotter." Amber yellow to light white. "Hotter." Now she could feel it, several feet away. "Hotter."

This, she figured, was a good place to start.


	7. Chapter 7

A month and a half after Edward left Amestris, it was June. To many of the students' disappointment, the arrival of summer didn't mean the end of school, at least not at Xavier's. They did, however, let up a little, shortening hours and easing out-of-class work.

Ed really didn't mind either way; his friends, on the other hand, seemed either pleased with the easier work, or thoroughly disgusted at the continuing presence of school. Ed was amused.

It was a day after school, transmutation circles drawn in the dirt in front of them, that Kitty asked Ed, almost hesitantly,

"Hey, Ed. Can you tell us about one of your missions?"

Ed froze, then, slowly, looked up. Bobby and John were looking at him now, interested. He grinned with forced confidence.

"Sure." He dragged his metal hand across the dirt, smearing out his array with tumbling grains of brown (though it hovered still in his mind's eye) and leaned back, crossing his arms, one white glove now stained brown. (The transmutation to take that off was simple, but not worth his time.) "Well, the first mission I ever got was a mine inspection."

John groaned. Bobby frowned at Ed. Ed laughed.

"Don't knock it 'til you hear it, I wouldn't be telling you this sotry if it was boring, would I?" Ignoring their dubious looks, Ed continued, "The mine was at a town called Youswell,and _damn,_ it was a dump. See, the guy in charge, Yoki, he was a real asshole…"

As the story continued, their expressions changed from dubious to interested, and Ed got more and more into it, all wide gestures and loud noises like a crackling bonfire, eventually standing up to act parts of it out, sending his friends into peals of laughter that he barely noticed, he was so intensely focused.

"And so the people of Youswell got their town back, and Yoki?" Ed smirked. "Well, none of the officers he bribed would fess up, so he got court martialed. Last I heard, Youswell was doing fine, too."

It was a moment or two before they snapped out of it, and finally, John snorted.

"No way in hell," he declared, pointing accusingly at Ed, "was that your _first_ mission."

Ed grinned. "Yeah, it was. Way to show up with a bang, huh?" His face transformed into a scowl. "Bet the damn Bastard Colonel did it on purpose, the manipulative jerk."

"He can't be that bad," Kitty protested.

"He _is!"_ Ed insisted. "One time, before I was even a State Alchemist, he made me and Al jump on an earlier train to stop a rebel group and get a General on board to give me permission Mustang told me I _already had!"_ He huffed.

"Now you're making stuff up," Bobby said confidently, laughing.

"I wish," Ed huffed, crossing his arms. "Stupid bastard."

"Edward," a voice called, suddenly and unexpectedly, making all four of them jump.

Ed looked up to see Scott striding toward them, face strangely grim, as if lit by a funeral pyre. "Yeah?" he said cautiously. He and Scott had been on pretty good terms since Scott apologized, but it wouldn't be the first time Ed had touched a fire and gotten burned.

"Can I speak with you a moment?" He paused, an Ed would guess he was glancing at his friends, who sat on the ground, levity gone from the atmosphere like smoke in the wind. "Alone?"

"Sure," Ed said slowly, pushing himself to his feet. "Where?"

"My office, if you don't mind."

Edward nodded cautiously and looked back to his friends, who appeared as startled as he was. "Uh, see you guys later, I guess."

Kitty waved hesitantly. "See you later, Ed."

John nodded, and Bobby raised a hand halfheartedly, both their eyes on Scott.

Edward turned away and looked expectantly at Scott, who looked to the front and started walking. Ed followed after, deeply confused.

"So what's up?" Ed asked, growing impatient with the older man's silence.

"In the office," Scott repeated, looking at the students around them, who were basically ignoring them. Ed huffed, but kept following, grumbling to himself. He stopped when Scott looked back at him with a raised eyebrow.

Finally, they reached Scott's office, and Ed barely had a moment to look around before Scott shut and locked the door behind them and turned to him.

"Fullmetal."

Ed started and looked at Scott, distracted from taking in his surroundings. Scott hadn't called him Fullmetal since he'd first noticed how much Ed hated it. Subconsciously, he straightened slightly, adopting the more military pose he took when Mustang was really, truly serious. "Yeah?"

"Have you ever heard of the Brotherhood?"

Ed's sharp gold eyes narrowed and he shook his head. Scott nodded, expecting that, mouth a grim slash.

"The Brotherhood is a mutant group led by a man called Magneto. They believe, in short, that mutants should be in charge of everything, and they take steps in that direction." Scott's disapproval radiated off of him in shimmering heat waves.

Ed's mouth twisted into a faint echo of Scott's grim frown, mind touching on people with no mutations, people he trusted more than anything – Mustang, Havoc, Winry, Pinako, others. "What about them?" It wasn't hard to guess, but the hypocrisy was stunning.

"Professor Xavier runs a group known as the X-Men." Edward didn't bother to stifle a snicker. Scott ignored him. "This group includes most of the staff here and works against the Brotherhood."

"And?" Ed prompted, crossing his arms, wanting him to say it.

Scott sighed. "The Professor wants someone to investigate a new project of theirs. We know next to nothing about it, but they seem to believe that it's very promising." He frowned. "If it were up to me, Fullmetal, we wouldn't be sending you in at all. You're far too young." Ed bristled. "But it's not."

"Why am _I_ being sent in?" Ed asked suspiciously, shifting restlessly. "Why not one of you?"

"Because with the right measures, you can be inconspicuous," Scott answered grimly. "You're small-"

_"Who're you calling so small an ant couldn't see him in front of its face?!"_

"-and fast, and you have practice at these things. Most of our members work best in the open-" As did Ed. "-and those who don't are occupied." Then, quieter and more intense, "Fullmetal, this is a one-time mission, but it's important. Will you take it?"

Ed hesitated. Looked up at him. Finally, he smirked confidently. "Heh. I don't see why not."

Scott relaxed visibly. "Thank you, Fullmetal. This will be a great help." Then, businesslike, "Meet me here after dinner. I'll give you the mission details then."

Ed smirked again, more wry than confident. "Yeah, sure," he said offhandedly, turning away. Then he paused. "One more thing… don't call me Fullmetal." He'd never liked being addressed as a weapon, and it was somehow worse when the person using it didn't really know what it meant.

"I'm not calling you by your given name when you're on a mission," Scott said sternly. "It's a security risk."

Ed shrugged. "I don't care what you do, just don't call me Fullmetal."

Then he was out the door, before Scott had a chance to reply. Scott sat back and sighed.

Well, it wasn't like it really mattered. Ed would never be given a mission again, after all.

* * *

Later that night, Ed bade farewell to his friends and headed back to Scott's office, where the man was waiting, eerily reminiscent of the bastard colonel behind his desk, only less smirky.

Ed had left behind his red coat for the occasion, keeping on his black jacket instead, with his white gloves clean and snug on his hands.

"Thank you, Fullm-" Ed scowled at him and he obligingly cut himself off. "Elric." He felt uncomfortable using Ed's real name in the context of a mission, even in the safety of the office, and he made a mental note to speak to the Professor. Just in case. "The Brotherhood doesn't have a real base of operations, but recently, Magneto obtained a warehouse that looks like it's been set up as a research base. The Professor wants you to go there and investigate their newest project." Even through the red-sheen sunglasses, the intensity in his gaze was clear. "Don't take any risks. Don't go anywhere _near_ Magneto. And make sure you're back within six hours."

Ed smirked and nodded, fire comfortable under his skin, like it was before. The training with Storm really had helped, he thought absently. Gold eyes shone with confidence and his metal arm locked neatly with his flesh one as he crossed them. "Right. Where is this warehouse?"

Scott pulled out a map, examined it for a moment, and then circled a place on the map with a red pen. He gave the map to Ed, along with a small photograph. "Right there."

Ed briefly examined both and then folded up the map, tucking it neatly under his arm, and shoved the picture into one pocket. "Got it. That all?"

"That's all," Scott confirmed. "Listen in on conversations, and don't take anything unless you think it won't be missed."

Ed waved a hand dismissively. "Yeah, yeah. I'm not some newbie, you know." They better know, considering.

Scott paused, then nodded. "Go on, then."

Ed cast him a grin and turned, heading out the door without a care in the world.

* * *

Why was this place so damned _big?_

Ed growled at the map in his hands, then at the street sign, then glared at the map again. Ed wasn't directionally challenged, not by a long shot, but _damn,_ this was harder than he thought it'd be. At this rate, it'd take an hour and a half to get there and another to get back, at least. And that was three hours of his time gone right there.

He found his place on the map a moment later and sighed with a hint of relief. Wait, no, he was almost there. Sure enough, two blocks later, he found a row of warehouses, and he put the map away with a smirk, taking out the picture instead.

He was more careful now, cautious and discreet – take that, Mustang! He found the warehouse and smirked, putting the picture away and checking the time on his silver pocket watch.

Damn. Hour and a half, indeed. He made a mental note to give himself another hour and a half to find the Institute and put the watch away, too.

He moved over to the warehouse in question and peeked in the window. No one was there; a ten minute wait revealed that no one was coming, and Ed grinned. This might be easier than he'd thought.

He opened the door and darted in. Quickly, he swept his golden gaze over the room. It was thankfully full of tall shelves full of boxes, and he climbed nimbly up one, flesh and metal fingers each as sure as each other.

Ed didn't climb all the way to the top, because that would be almost as bad as staying on the floor, but he clung to the side like a monkey anyway, grinning at the ground. Damn, but this was fun. His gold hair shone like a street lamp in the dark, sure, and he made a mental note to remember that, but those scientists in their cheesy lab coats down on the ground? They had _no_ idea that he was there. It was _awesome._

Still, he should probably move. If one of them decided to look up for whatever reason, then his position would be as bad as wearing a shrieking orange sweater on the op. He moved as quietly as he could back to the other side of the shelf and then down a few levels, listening from there as he kept a careful eye out for anyone coming this way.

"Magneto is freaking nuts for this one, you know," one scientist was muttering to the other, halfhearted gaze on a book in his hands.

"Don't say that!" the other hissed at him, sounding half-panicked. "What if he has a spy somewhere? Or a bug? He probably has us bugged."

"You think so?" Now the first guy sounded panicked.

 _"Of course,_ numbskull! Shut up!"

There was a minute of quiet, and Ed scowled. As if feeling this, the first guy spoke again.

"But seriously. What's he thinking?"

A brief moment in which the second guy probably shrugged. "Don't know. But apparently there's a scientific basis for it, don't ask me what it is. No worse than any mutant power, you know? Let's just try to keep an open mind, so we don't get eviscerated."

"Yeah." Ed peeked through the boxes and smirked as he watched the first guy shudder. "Seriously, though, a perfect mutant? _Making_ a perfect mutant? That's got to be some seriously fucked up genetic shit right there, don't tell me you're not skeptical."

Gotcha. Ed tilted his head, gold eyes sharp. Making a perfect mutant, huh?

"Well, yeah," the second guy admitted. "Anyone sane would be. But Magneto's never wrong." He shuddered, too. Ed bit down a laugh; it wouldn't do to give away his position this early in the game.

"Yeah," the first guy echoed, dubious.

Ed stayed there for what felt like a short eternity, listening, but most of the time they were quiet. Even when they spoke, it was in low tones he couldn't quite make out, though that revealed itself to be quiet scientific discussion when he chanced moving a few more levels down.

"I know the Brotherhood doesn't concern itself with morals much," the first guy said, suddenly and abruptly. "But don't you think…" He trailed off.

"Shut up!" the second guy hissed at him, looking panicked. Ed looked through the shelf to see him hitting the other man over the head. "You're going to get us both killed!"

Ed chuckled quietly and then looked back down, still grinning, and froze. In the short time he'd been looking away, a woman, blue-skinned and red-haired, had wandered in, and was currently searching through a box with strange intensity.

Ed half-panicked and scrambled up, internally thanking God that the shelf was so steady – if he was careful, it wouldn't wobble enough to be noticed.

He chanced another glance down and found the woman looking up past the shelf, sharp gaze on where Ed knew the scientists were working. They must have continued their apparently blasphemous discussion.

Then she must have, he didn't know, heard something, and she paused. He hissed through his teeth and scaled the last few shelves, reaching the very top – no time to jump across now – and pressed himself to the wide shelf, praying internally. He peeked through a gap between two boxes just as she looked up, yellow eyes bright and suspicious even from his high vantage point. He held his breath, skin boiling hot.

She looked back down and tucked the book under her arm, striding forward past the shelf. He relaxed.

"How goes your research?" Ed heard her deceptively casual voice say, but he didn't stick around – his watch revealed that he had another two hours of time, half an hour before he meant to leave, but it was definitely time to go.

He stood, hunched over, and straightened as much as he dared before he jumped, landing precariously on the next shelf and making a slightly louder sound than he was comfortable with, but the men's pleading covered it neatly. Ed sighed with relief and jumped over the shelves all the way across the warehouse before scrambling down and darting out the door.

He was three blocks away before he felt safe enough to slow down, casting fervent glances over his shoulder. Seeing no one following him, he grinned and let out a short, but loud laugh, pleased and relieved.

Ed pulled out his map, grinning, and set about finding his way back to the Institute.

Ed returned to the Institute fifteen minutes before the assigned return time; apparently it was a good thing that he'd left early, since Scott had forgotten to mark the Institute on the map, leaving Ed to rely on his (thankfully excellent) memory to find his way back.

* * *

Tired but pleased, Ed wound up in Scott's office five minutes before the deadline, where the man was pacing anxiously, brow furrowed.

Scott looked up sharply when he entered. "Fullmetal."

"Ed," Ed reminded him tiredly, suppressing a yawn. "Finished the mission." He waved his hand vaguely. "It was pretty easy, don't know why your guys couldn't do it. Whatever." He yawned again, his internal fire flickering sleepily. He always felt cooler when he was tired – his power felt all but out of reach.

"Did you find anything out?" Scott pressed, stomping down the urge to send the student to bed.

Ed rolled his eyes and nodded. "Duh." He forced himself to straighten, rocking slightly back and forth on his feet. "There weren't any guards on, so they can't be that far into it." He grinned. "And the stupid bastards never looked up, didn't even _almost_ see me climbing on their shelves." He chuckled as Scott gave him a brief, incredulous look. "Anyway, the two guys – there were only two scientists there right then – they didn't talk much, but they seemed to think it was pretty immoral." He frowned a little.

"It _is_ the Brotherhood," Scott replied grimly. "Anything else?"

Ed nodded. "Yeah. They said something about 'making a perfect mutant'. The guy mentioned that it seemed like some sort of genetics experiment." He frowned a little. Human bodies were _not_ something you should mess with.

Scott's brow furrowed, mouth straightening into a firm line. "I see." He sighed. "Thank you… Edward. It's not as much as we hoped for, but it's a hell of a lot more than we knew before. We'll set some more people on it as soon as we can."

Ed failed to suppress another yawn and nodded. "Good. Human experimentation's some freaky shit, you know? You don't mess with human life." Yawn. Scott gave him a funny look, but didn't say anything beyond,

"Go to bed, Edward. It's almost one in the morning and you have class tomorrow."

Ed rolled his eyes. "Yeah, and who's fault is that? Asshole."

He was out the door before Scott could do more than blink.

* * *

"-and Fuery found my kitten, but he promised not to tell anyone," Alphonse finished happily, then squeaked. "I mean…"

The day after the mission, Ed's friends had pestered him about why he'd left right after dinner, but he hadn't breathed a word, brushing it off easily. By lunchtime, they'd given up, and now, at the end of the day, John was the same as ever, rolling his eyes at him and miming barfing as he talked with Al.

Ed rolled his eyes. "C'mon, Al, you haven't exactly been subtle. I knew you had it."

Al laughed sheepishly. "Yeah, I guess so." Then, suddenly, "Oh! Brother, the Colonel wants to talk with you."

Ed frowned and sat up suddenly, gold eyes suddenly suspicious. "The Colonel? What's he want with me? I'm on assignment, technically, can't he just let me alone?"

"Brother!" Al sounded exasperated. "It's nothing like that. He just wants to check on you."

Ed stilled. "Check on me?" he asked, voice pure surprise.

"Yeah!" Al insisted. "That's all, brother." Ed heard a muffled voice on the other end and frowned. "Oh, okay, Colonel." To Ed, "Colonel Mustang's taking the phone now, brother. I'll talk to you soon, okay?"

"Got it, Al," Ed said with a grin. "Talk to you soon."

There were a few muffled sounds as the phone switched hands, and then it was Mustang's firm voice on the other side.

"Fullmetal," he greeted.

"Hey, Colonel Bastard," Ed replied, inexplicably cheerful. Absently, he wondered why he didn't mind it when Mustang called him Fullmetal.

Maybe it was because Mustang knew what it meant better than Ed ever wanted to.

Mustang sighed and Ed grinned. Knowing full well that resistance was futile, Mustang ignored the title and moved on. "How's your training going? Will we be able to expect you back soon?" He sounded almost concerned, but that had to be a joke, and Ed scowled at the phone.

"It's going fine, bastard. Apparently I had some sort of mental block on my power that was making it so it built up instead of just letting me regulate it, but we're moving past that." He sighed, scowling. "Don't think I'll be making it back anytime soon, though."

"Hm." Ed hated it when he 'hm'ed; it was impossible to guess what he was thinking when he did that. "And the staff? Alphonse told me you were having some trouble in the beginning."

There was a strange edge to his tone, like Al when Ed mentioned some kid on the street that had called him 'cripple'. "They're fine, too, bastard. Got a lot better when they realized I wasn't some mindless soldier."

Mustang let out a sound that was almost like a chuckle. "I don't know how they could think that," he said idly. Suspicion gnawed at Ed's brain and sure enough, "Your attention span is too _short_ to take orders, let alone follow them."

Ed growled furiously. _"Who're you calling so short he can't hear people talk 'cause they're too far away?!"_

"That would be you, Fullmetal."

"At least I'm not some smirky bastard who's useless in the rain! And _I'm not short!"_

Mustang chuckled over the line and Ed scowled at him across miles of land and ocean. "Ease up, Fullmetal. You're too easy to wind up." Ed huffed. John laughed at him. Ed rolled his eyes. "Is there anything you ought to report?"

Ed didn't even think about it before shrugging. "Not really, Mustang. It's a school, after all. Not much happens here." John chuckled and mouthed 'you can say that again'. Ed grinned. "Really, Mustang, it's fine. Don't worry your obsessive head about it."

"Pot, meet kettle," Mustang retorted, sounding far too relieved for Ed's taste. "Fine, kid. Keep it that way, understand? That's an order."

Ed scowled and rolled his eyes. "Yeah, yeah. See you, Colonel."

"I'll check in again in another month," Mustang informed him. And then he hung up, the bastard.

Ed chuckled and put the phone back where it belonged, feeling far too comfortable with the whole thing.

It was only after he finished getting ready for bed that he realized that the mission probably fell under 'things he ought to report'.

Ah, whatever. It's not like it would happen again. Scott had assured him of that.

* * *

There were a lot of kids in the field today, Ed noted. He waved at the ones he got along well with – which, he realized, was far more of them than he had before – and grinned. Then he looked back at his friends, walking beside him.

Bobby huffed at nothing. "It's too hot," he complained to the air. Ed and John laughed at him, and even Kitty suppressed a giggle.

"It's barely summer," she pointed out. Bobby rolled his eyes.

"Yeah, so? It's _too hot."_

More laughter. He scowled.

"Stop laughing."

Louder laughter. He sighed, defeated. Ed took pity on him and let his laughter die off, John and Kitty following shortly after. Or, well, not so shortly.

"So what should we do?" Kitty asked, still breathless. "All the game courts are occupied."

Ah. So they were.

"We don't need a court to play a game," John dismissed, rolling his eyes. "Now we just need to figure out what to play."

Ed considered. Then he grinned mischievously and reached out to tap John on the shoulder. John looked at him expectantly. "Tag, you're it!"

Then he took off, grinning. John stared at him a moment, incredulous, and then smirked and looked back at the still-startled pair behind him. He swatted Kitty's arm. "Tag, you're it!"

Then he, too, took off.

Kitty took one look at Bobby and Bobby took off, and she scowled at him and chased him down to hit his shoulder, pronounce him it, and take off. He pouted and chased after her. She lost him and he gave up for John instead.

They played like that for a while; other kids ducked in and out of the game, and at one point Ed swore there were at least twenty kids running around rampant. Finally, though, breathless and laughing, it was just the four of them again, and then they fell to the grass, grinning like idiots.

"That," John announced, "was the most ridiculously childish thing I've done in _years."_

"I bet," Ed said with a grin. "And isn't it _great?"_

No one answered, but their grins told the story well enough.

They stayed down for a while 'til they caught there breath, and then pushed themselves up to sit, though they didn't leave yet.

"I wonder what games we could play with our powers," Kitty said thoughtfully.

John snorted. "Yeah, okay. What do you get when you put ice, fire, and intangibility together? 'Cause I sure as hell don't know."

"Me either," Kitty admitted. "Still, it could be fun."

"I still don't have a lot of control," Ed felt the need to point out. Bobby laughed.

"That's okay, none of us do, really. Young mutants never do." He shrugged. "It's a lot harder than it ought to be, you know? I'm just glad that it's okay here. More than I can say for home."

John snorted, agreeing. "Yeah, well. Everything different at home, isn't it?" He sounded bitter.

Bobby winced. "Yeah," he admitted. Then, lower, "My parents don't even know what kind of school this is. They think it's some kind of, I don't remember, prep school or something."

Ed gave him a startled look. "Really?"

Bobby nodded miserably. "Yeah." Then, "Why, how did your parents take it?"

Ed didn't know how his parents would have taken his powers. Ed felt very uncomfortable. Ed said, "I never got the chance to find out. Mom died when I was five and Dad walked out a few years before that."

John snorted again. "Parents," he said derisively. None of them asked about how his took it.

"Mine took it really well," Kitty told them in a small voice. She didn't like thinking about how most parents reacted – how lucky she'd been. How close she might have come to not being so lucky. "They were proud."

Ed gave her a small grin. "Good for you, Kitty," he said encouragingly. "That's great." She smiled back. John rolled his eyes, but didn't say anything.

It wasn't nice to rain on other people's parades.


End file.
